


In Balance With This Life

by aurorablack



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canon Timeline, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Partially Deceased Syndrome, Past Character Death, Past Drug Use, Post Season/Series 02, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 74,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorablack/pseuds/aurorablack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after the tragic events during the Beating the Bounds march, Kieren Walker’s second life is beginning to look up. </p><p>He is moving into the bungalow with Simon, the Victus initiated Roarton Protection Service has now been virtually disbanded, his sister Jem has a new boyfriend who was not in the Human Volunteer Force during The Rising, and no more incidents involving Blue Oblivion high rabids or attacks by the Undead Liberation Army have occurred. </p><p>Kieren is finally able to live life in Roarton as an openly Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferer, not having to hide behind cover-up mousse and contact lenses, but there is a shadow on the horizon. With new and old faces popping up in the village that will threaten to disturb his newfound happiness, will Kieren ever get the chance to have that normal life he so desperately craves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving On And Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfiction and it is going to be a long one. I had been toying with the idea of putting fingers to keyboard for several years now, but series 2 of In the Flesh moved me so deeply, I was inspired to write this. I desperately wanted to find out what would happen next, so if series 3 were never made, at least I would have some answers from my own imagination.
> 
> Disclaimer: In the Flesh, the series, original locations and characters, belong to the immensely talented writer and creator Dominic Mitchell. I hope he does not mind me borrowing them for a while, but I do promise to put them back once I am done. (Although, if I could keep Simon Monroe for my own, I certainly would!)

Kieren Walker sighs as he surveys the almost empty room that has been his bedroom for the last twenty-three years. Well, eighteen years the first time around and then another year after The Rising. After the four years he was away, when he came home he was surprised to find that his parents had kept his room exactly as he left it.

Left it. Kieren smiles grimly to himself at the term. Yes, he had certainly left it, if you call slitting your wrists and spending a month buried in the ground, moving out? Or rising as a Rabid, without a thought in your head, except for that unquenchable hunger to kill every living person who crossed your path for almost three months, moving out? Or even being captured, medicated and rehabilitated for what seemed like forever in Norfolk, moving out?

Yes, he had certainly left it, if you call slitting your wrists and spending a month buried in the ground, moving out? Or rising as a rabid without a thought in your head except for the unquenchable hunger to kill every living person who crossed your path for almost three months, moving out? Or even being captured, medicated and rehabilitated for what seemed like forever in Norfolk, moving out?

This time around, however, he was properly leaving home and funeral directors need not apply.

The story was that he was moving out to be housemates with Simon at the bungalow. That was what he had told his parents anyway, but everyone knew Simon was a little more to Kieren than just someone to share the utility bills with.

In case you have been living under a rock in Roarton over the past few months, Simon Monroe had arrived out of the blue one day with Amy Dyer, the now second time dead PDS or Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferer (Note: we do not appreciate the term rotter, and anyone who uses it can leave right now, by the way) and riled up the local community somewhat, with his radical Undead Liberation Army views on the village’s partially deceased population. That was all before Kieren though, as nothing brings what is really important into sharp focus quite like falling for someone, even for one of the twelve disciples of the Undead Prophet.

Kieren’s mum and dad, Sue and Steve Walker, had at least warmed to Simon over the past few months. Saving Kieren’s life back in December... well second life. Or should that be existence? Anyway, whatever it is now; taking a bullet for Kieren went some way to persuading them that he was an okay sort of a bloke and not the bad influence they originally feared. His dad had accepted the housemate explanation at face value. Steve was always good at believing what he wanted to believe. One thing was accepting that his son was partially deceased, but coming to terms with the fact that his son was in a relationship with another man almost ten years his senior even if aging was not really a concern for either of them anymore, was something that would take time.

“He’s a very friendly chap, that Simon,” Steve had remarked to Sue in the kitchen during one of their movie marathon evenings. This was after Simon had spent the entire night with his arm draped around Kieren’s shoulders on the sofa. Their thighs were pressed tightly together from hip to knee, while hands occasionally brushed familiar skin and sometimes even came to rest on familiar limbs. Steve had observed all of the above, but as was his way, rationalised it as his son’s friend just being, “very hands on.”

“Yes, he and Kieren do seem to get on well,” Sue agreed. “I’m glad he’s got a good friend now. Yer know, after what happened with Rick.”

She poured the microwave popcorn into a bowl and handed it to her husband to take back into the living room, careful not to look at him in case he read the truth about their son in her eyes. She knew her husband would get there in his own time and in his own way.

Steve thought for a moment, and then realisation crossed his features. “He’s probably an artist too! Very touchy feely those artistic types.”

Sue had just smiled, “Yeah, that’s probably what it is.” She knew her son well enough, not to mention knew human nature regardless of the degree of living of those individuals, to see that theirs was clearly not an average friendship.

The general ‘no kissing in front of his parents’ policy Kieren and Simon had decided upon by silent agreement did not prevent the shared looks and affectionate gestures they constantly gave one another every time Simon visited. The way the two men were around each other, even from the first time he brought him home, was like a speakerphone shouting in a mother’s ear, “This could be the one!”

His sister, Jemima, who Kieren had never kept any secrets from growing up, realised what the deal was immediately. She and her mum had played along when he had announced his plans over breakfast one morning, which of course he did not eat, but still went through the charade for his family’s sake.

“Thought the bungalow only had two bedrooms, Kier?” Jem asked bluntly, not making any attempt to hide a knowing grin. “Or are yer going to be kipping on the sofa?”

“Well, I’m sure Simon will have cleared out Amy’s old room ready for when Kieren moves in,” Sue had responded quickly and before Steve could start asking any awkward questions. “Isn’t that right, love? Won’t be a problem, I’m sure. Could yer pass me the marg, please?”

Kieren reached over to pass her the tub of margarine and confirmed the lie, “Yeah, that’s right, mum.”

“I think it’s very practical with the price of council tax these days,” Steve had agreed, lifting his mug to his lips and then inspecting it disappointingly. “I could do with a top up, anyone for another cuppa tea?” And to Kieren’s relief, that was the end of the subject.

The reality was, they had left Amy’s room exactly as it was for her, just as Kieren’s parents had done for him. It seemed silly, but neither Simon nor himself could bring themselves to clear her things out, even if she was not going to be coming back from the grave for a second time. The Second Rising had not happened and although the dead now could never again be considered as gone for good, it seemed too much to hope to see his BDFF again.

Finishing up in his room, Kieren takes the black marker pen from the window ledge and scribbles ‘ART SUPPLIES’ in bold letters across the top of the cardboard box on his bed, having sealed it securely with brown packaging tape across the lid. He can hear his dad’s muffled voice below in the living room. Simon is helping him set up his new Smart TV, after an accident involving Jem and their cordless phone had sent the last flat screen to television heaven. The new model was not only high definition, but 3D ready too, a fact his dad had explained at least three times already so they could watch, “all those new 3D Blu-rays” he had bought recently.

Taking one last look around to satisfy himself his job is complete; Kieren picks up his suitcase and carries it down the stairs. Placing it by the front door, he makes his way into the living room to check on how Simon and his dad are getting on.

Something is amiss. The room is dark with the curtains drawn, despite the fact it is barely two in the afternoon. Both men turn to look at Kieren as he enters and he instantly has to stifle a laugh.

They are both wearing dark glasses.

“Wow, it’s a bit bright in here, isn’t it?” Kieren says, plastering on the best poker face he can manage. “I can see why you’re both wearing sunglasses indoors!” He does not need to look at Simon to know he is glaring at him, so directs his gaze at the slightly blurry screen ahead, resolutely attempting to keep a straight face.

“They’re 3D glasses, Kier,” Steve tells him enthusiastically. “They make what’s on the screen look… well, 3D actually.”

“Really? Never have guessed that, dad. Thought the new flat screen yer got was just faulty.” 

“No," Steve shakes his head, his son's attempt at sarcasm completely lost on him. "Yer wear these, son, and it looks like things are really coming out at yer.” He nods towards the box the TV has arrived in, now abandoned in the far corner of the room. “There’s a spare pair in there, you should take a look for yourself.”

“It’s fine, take mine,” Simon says in his thick Dublin accent, jumping to his feet from the sofa and revealing piercing white eyes as he takes off the glasses, handing them to Kieren. Clearly he is itching to hurry this conversation along so they can leave as soon as possible. There is, after all, only so much Blu-ray talk a person can handle as Kieren knows only too well from past experience. “I was about to go outside for a smoke anyways,” he explains as an afterthought, while heading for the front door to make his escape.

Both men watch him leave before turning their attention back to the marvel of 3D technology. Kieren does his best to pay attention, but he is distracted, consumed with an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards Simon for his continued patient indulgence of his family. Not to mention his valiant effort in sticking it out all morning with his dad as Kieren begins to wonder if he will even make it through so much as five minutes of this.

Ten minutes later and numerous 3D Blu-rays tested, Kieren is back in his room collecting the last of his things to take downstairs when he hears a soft tap on the open bedroom door. He turns to find Simon slouching against the doorframe. “Ye all done up here?”

“Ye all done up here?”

“Think so, just about,” Kieren answers, zipping up his old worn backpack that lays beside his A3 portfolio and boxed up art supplies on his bed.

Simon walks fully into the room, looking about him in silence. His pale eyes survey the space around him like a detective looking for clues. He gestures towards the numerous artworks on the wall, which Kieren painted before he died. “You’re not taking those with ye?” The fact that he purposely is not making eye contact does not go unnoticed by the younger man. Simon has been subtle, but they both knew his question only refers to one painting in particular; the portrait of Rick Macy.

The fact that he purposely is not making eye contact does not go unnoticed by the younger man. Simon has been subtle, but they both knew his question only refers to one painting in particular; the portrait of Rick Macy.

It hangs against the near wall next to the bedroom door, directly in front of the Kieren’s single bed and could easily be considered as taking pride of place in the small room. This is slightly awkward.

This is slightly awkward. Kieren tries to think of the best way to explain without making anything sound too heavy or a big deal. Even though, in the grand scheme of things it is, in fact, a very big deal indeed for him.

Kieren tries to think of the best way to explain without making anything sound too heavy or a big deal. Even though, in the grand scheme of things it is, in fact, a very big deal indeed for him.

Only seconds pass as he considers what the right words are to use. He needs to try and convey several important things that they have never really discussed before. The most important being the way he feels and how things have changed for him now Simon is in his life (sorry, second life), but the silence stretches out between them as if it were hours until finally, he just purses his lips in determination and tries to make his next sentences sound as casual as possible.

“Nah, I was thinking of leaving them behind. They’re part of my old life now.” Simon looks up sharply as Kieren gradually edges nearer to him. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m moving on,” he finishes cheerily, planting a gentle kiss on Simon’s lips. His parents are downstairs so it is not breaking their self-imposed rule.

Now, see? That was not so difficult.

“That’s good.” Simon smiles, taking Kieren’s face in his hands and kissing him again.

And it was true. Rick had meant everything to Kieren back then, more than his own life. So much so that he had ended it all when he heard Rick had been killed in Afghanistan. He still loved Rick and still missed him every day. He visited his grave often in the new cemetery and told him the things that were going on in Roarton. He passed on all the local gossip regarding people they knew; who was up to what and even sometimes with whom, and generally rambled on about all the new developments in his life now. He had even told Rick about Simon. Or rather, him and Simon. If Rick had still been around, what would he have thought about that? Kieren could not help but wonder, but then felt guilty because of it. Would there even be a ‘him and Simon’ if Rick were still partially alive and kicking?

There did not seem any point wasting time thinking about it. Rick was dead, and just like Amy, it was for good this time. But Simon was not. He might be registered as partially deceased, but as far as Kieren was concerned, he was very much alive. And most important of all, he made Kieren feel alive too.

But there was one other big difference between Rick and Simon. Something that clearly separated one man from the other as individuals, regardless of the strong emotional bond Kieren had come to share with each of them.

The thing about Simon was he was not afraid of who he was and what he wanted. Sure, a lot of the time his attitude was that consequences be damned, but Kieren had been a positive influence on him and he had reigned in those impulses and tried to be the ‘normal person’ he had asked him to try to be. It had surprised Kieren at first, not to mention deeply touched him, that Simon was prepared to do anything within his power to make him happy. Spending all those meals and nights in with his family and agreeing to do things like help out his dad with the stupid telly, demonstrated how hard he was trying.

Only Simon had sacrificed a lot more than just his time to be with him. He had turned his back on the Undead Liberation Army for Kieren. The people who had taken him in, given him friendship and love, but most importantly, something to live for. He had found them at a time when he was at his lowest and most desperate. While all other doors had been closed to him, only they had welcomed him in from the cold loneliness of his isolation, accepted him for who he was and showed him there was another way. The ULA stood for everything Simon believed in and what he had come to hold most dear, but now he was considered a traitor to the cause, because when it came down to it, there was what he believed and then there was Kieren. He could not have both, and when he was finally forced to make a choice between the two, he followed his heart.

It was choice that had given them some problems, to put it mildly, with the devout redeemed of Roarton. Although Simon kept it well hidden from Kieren, he was always watching his back. Those faithful followers would never forgive him for not slaughtering Kieren like a sacrificial lamb as the Undead Prophet had instructed him to do in the belief that it would trigger The Second Rising.

Kieren tries not to think about it, but it always crosses his mind at the most inopportune moments, as it has now. He breaks their kiss suddenly, but does not pull away completely. He has something else to tell Simon that he has been meaning to say for a while and there really is no time like the present. He seems to be on a roll today and so takes a deep breath and goes for it.

“Listen Simon, thanks for doing this.”

Simon shrugs. “S’okay, no worries. Makes sense both of us moving your stuff, rather than ye making two journeys.”

Kieren knows Simon is a humble man in his own way and does not want an issue made out of this. He is being deliberately obtuse, but it is important he knows how much his efforts are appreciated.

“I don’t mean that,” Kieren persists. “I mean for helping me dad with the telly. But not just that. All the other stuff too.” Simon continues to wave it off as nothing, but Kieren can be as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be and will not easily be placated. “I actually think me mum and dad quite like yer. And yer do realise you’ve done the impossible with Jem? She actually told me the other day that she thought you were, “alright.” Coming from Jem, that translates as really high praise.”

Simon laughs out loud at this, something of a rare occurrence. “Jesus, don’t sound so surprised! Your parents and sister are grand an' all, but they don’t owe me anything. I do it for you Kieren, because ye asked me to.”

“I know,” and this time it is Kieren’s turn to shrug uncomfortably as he plays casually with the buttons on Simon’s shirt, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles down his chest. “I just wanted yer to know that I was grateful, is all.”

Simon cups both hands around the back of Kieren’s neck to draw him closer and looks straight into his eyes. “Believe me, I’m no saint, but I told ye once before, ye just need to tell me what ye want and I’ll do anything I can to give it to ye. Okay?”

Kieren nods silently. It is all he can manage. Not quite finding his voice, he notices absently that his mouth has gone dry at some point during their conversation. He has never had someone like Simon in his life before and the realisation of how much he genuinely cares about him and the emotion that generates is hard for someone like Kieren to get his head around. He never dared dream anyone would want him, especially now. But Simon does.

And Simon is not just anybody. Simon is travelled, educated and cultured. He is also very charismatic and charming when he wants to be. Could have just about anyone that caught his eye, living or dead quite possibly, if he put his mind to it. Now he'd got to know him better, Kieren thought he was amazing. And the most extraordinary part? He thought Kieren was, in his own words, “incredible” too.

His mum had commented on it only once during a trip to Shop ‘n’ Save. The supermarket held disturbing memories for Kieren from the time he was in his untreated state, but he was determined to confront his demons and thus agreed to go with Sue on her weekly shop. If talking about Simon was what she wanted to do to occupy them both on their visit, she was not going to get any argument from him.

“I swear, your Simon could charm the birds out of the trees,” she had told him, smelling the latest fragrance of antibacterial washing up liquid. “Don’t like that much, it’s meant to be grapefruit and lavender. Take a whiff of that? Smells more like those dandelions I’ve asked your dad three times to put weed killer on in the back garden. He still hasn’t done it.” She tutted, choosing her regular bottle and placing it in the trolley before moving on to the next item on her shopping list.

Kieren, who was responsible for driving the trolley as they made their way around the isles, followed behind in stunned silence for a while until they made their next stop.

“What makes yer say that? About Simon I mean. Not the weeds, obviously.”

“Nothing in particular,” she mused. “He’s just a nice lad, that’s all. Just goes to show, yer can never judge a book by its cover.”

“Not sure all the residents of Roarton would agree with yer there, mum,” Kieren pointed out.

Sue was now looking for her usual brand of washing powder, shaking her head in annoyance that they were out of stock and went on, “Totally infatuated he is.”

Kieren frowned. “Ay?”

“With _you_. My son,” she added, just a little proudly.

“Mum, I,” he began to protest, but his mother just smiled, putting her hand up to silence him by rubbing his arm affectionately; a knowing look heavy in her expression.

“It’s okay, love. It’s all I ever wanted for yer; to find someone who looks at yer like that. Like,” she floundered for a moment. “Well, like you’re their whole world. It reminds me of the way yer dad looked at me, once upon a time. It’s the very same look Simon gives you now. I'd know it anywhere.”

Kieren had just blinked in response, opening and shutting his mouth more than once, but not quite knowing what to say.

“It brings me comfort,” she continued, “To know you’ll always have somebody around who cares for yer, when we’re gone. And I’m glad it’s Simon, because God help anyone who ever thought to lay a finger on you, as they’ll be hell to pay.” She then turned her attention back to her shopping list and left Kieren wide-eyed and gaping after her.

Skinny, shy Kieren Walker. Who never really fit in anywhere. Or with anyone. Being someone’s whole world? The very idea sounded ludicrous to his ears. He had simply been too different to everyone else from the off and was always disliked for it. Being different had got him banned from The Roarton Legion and from the Macy's house. Ensured he was always the last to get picked for things at school by his classmates. Kieren Walker was nobody’s first choice in his first life and he could not image how that could have changed much now in his second.

Being different had got him banned from The Roarton Legion and from the Macy's house. Ensured he was always the last to get picked for things at school by his classmates. Kieren Walker was nobody’s first choice in his first life and he could not image how that could have changed much now in his second.

Rick was the only one that ever saw him, like really saw him. But even Rick could not take that final step with him. It was not that he was ashamed of Kieren, it was more the fact that he was ashamed of himself. The end result still amounted to the same thing though. And when he did eventually put Kieren first, finally standing up to his father for him, Bill killed Rick for it.

So Kieren had remained alone, lonely and unloved. Not special.

But not anymore. Not now with Simon in his life, standing by his side and letting the whole world see it. No, not anymore and not ever again. Especially when Simon is kissing him, the way he is again now.

“Okay,” Simon finalises. “Ready to go then, before your dad finds another Blu-ray to stick on that new TV of his?”

Kieren laughs. “I think we’ve done our time for now with that. It’ll be Jem’s turn next when she gets in. Although, knowing her, she’ll probably just tell me dad she doesn’t give a shit and piss off straight to her room.”

Throwing the backpack and portfolio across his shoulder, leaving Simon to carry the box, they both head for the stairs. “Thinking about it, in hindsight, that’s probably what we should have done,” Kieren muses leading the way.

Simon rolls his eyes. “Now ye tell me.”

\---

 

Two hours later, they are back in the bungalow. Most of what Kieren has brought with him has found a place in Simon’s bedroom. Correction, their bedroom.

Both he and Simon have few belongings between them so Kieren’s clothes easily fit into the single wardrobe, while other items have been tidied away into drawers in no time at all. Which is good, as he has a shift at The Legion in an hour.

He had reluctantly accepted his old job back at the pub. Bills did not pay themselves and he had to find a means to pay his way as the Give Back Scheme was voluntary. Well, forced volunteering anyway. Simon had told him that he did not need to go back to the pub when he mentioned it as he had money that would keep them both. Other than assure Kieren that the money was not by ill-gotten means, he had not offered any further explanation as to where it had come from, so Kieren had insisted on getting a job regardless.

Pearl Pinder had felt so guilty for almost shooting him after Gary Kendal had spiked him with the PDS drug, Blue Oblivion, turning him rabid, she had asked Sue if Kieren would come back to work at The Legion as she needed an extra pair of hands. She did not have the nerve to ask him directly herself, especially as the one condition was he continued to wear his cover-up mousse and contact lenses while at work, “for the punters.”

The Roarton Legion was apparently doing good business, especially now there was this H2GO on the market, said to be the PDS equivalent of alcohol. It was known as HiGlow, because it was florescent green in colour. Apparently, or so Kieren had read, the biohazard glow was an additive rather than a by-product. Not so much a marketing tool thought of by the manufacturer, but a means to ensure the living would not mistake it for a regular alcoholic drink as it was as toxic to them as regular liquids and solids were to the partially deceased. Of course, there had been strong objections to such an intoxicant being made legally available for PDS Sufferers. People were concerned that it would lead to more rabid incidents, but the manufacturer had been able to provide evidence of tests that had been carried out, which supported the fact that these concerns were unfounded. So those who could not drink were now able to visit a pub or bar just like the living, have a good time and socialise, but most importantly spend money while doing so and no licensed house was going to object to that.

Ripping the brown packaging tape off the box of art supplies, Kieren begins unpacking the paints, brushes and charcoal on the table. Considering where he is going to store them, he looks up to find pale eyes watching him, a hint of a smile on Simon’s lips.

“I’ve left your easel in the hall as wasn’t sure where ye wanted it.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure yet,” Kieren considers. “Wherever’s got the best light, I guess.”

A pair of cool arms encircles his waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder, as Simon watches Kieren continue to remove items from the box. “That’ll be wherever you are then,” he whispers, his lips brushing gently against his neck. Sometimes Simon says the strangest things, but Kieren has learned not to ask. He would never admit it, but that is one of things he finds the most fascinating about him.

From the very first moment they met, Simon sitting alone on his gravestone, he had quoted the Irish poet Yeats and Kieren realised he could not think of a single person of his acquaintance that knew the poem, ‘An Irish Airman Foresees His Death’, let alone could recite it. Amy had been besotted with Simon when she arrived back with him from the commune and straight away Kieren could see why.

Finally, not to mention with some difficulty, Kieren extracts himself from Simon’s embrace to go to the bathroom where his cover-up mousse, contact lenses and other PDS camouflage paraphernalia have found a home in the bathroom cabinet. “Time to go make myself look acceptable for work,” he calls back, sarcasm mixed with a heavy dose of resignation in his tone.

He looks at his desaturated eyes and mottled skin in the mirror. The harsh light of the bathroom fluorescent lights make his appearance look even more supernatural as if he has an almost ethereal glow.

“Yeah, got to blend in with all the upstanding living residents of Roarton," Simon agrees, appearing in the doorway. "Don’t want to make them feel uncomfortable now, do we?”

He looks at Kieren’s reflection in the mirror as he takes out a small bottle of Moist Everafter Eye Lotion. He watches in silence as Kieren applies a few drops in each eye and blinks rapidly so his contact lenses will not chafe too much when he puts them in. Almost under his breath, Simon recites, “We should be hidden from their eyes, Being but holy shows, And bodies broken like a thorn, Whereon the bleak north blows.”

Yeats again. Kieren looks at him through the mirror. “Have yer got all of Yeats’ poems memorised?”

Simon shrugs. “Only the ones I like. Yeats was one of me mum’s favourites.”

“Oh, sorry.” Now Kieren feels bad for commenting on it.

Simon told him what had happened during The Rising with his mother. How he had come home in his untreated state and killed her. Then, after returning from the treatment centre, his father had not been able to forgive him and subsequently threw him out that very same night.

The sad truth is Kieren understands, despite the fact all Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferers know only too well they have no real control over their actions while unmedicated, that Simon will never come to terms with causing the death of his mother. A photograph of the two of them together is the only possession he keeps with him from his first life and an entire existence he does his best to forget.

Once the mousse is applied and brown Irisalways Contact Lenses in place, Kieren lets out a small sigh at the transformation in front of him. There was a time when Kieren could not bear to look at himself au naturel. Lately, however, he finds quite the opposite to be true.

“Gorgeous!” Simon’s tone is somewhere between good-natured ridicule and complete sincerity, but he does not miss the look Kieren gives him, which is frankly far from amused by the assessment. So he tries again, narrowing his eyes in genuine inspection, trying to find something positive to say. “Good job, ye look very… alive?” Kieren at the very least is far more adept at applying cover up than he is. But then again, he has had far more practice at it.

Approaching Kieren, he pulls at his collar to find the point on his neck, where the mousse ends and pale flesh shines through like a beacon. Finding it, he leans in for a kiss. It is a blatant attempt at distraction and for a moment, it works. All conscious thought escapes Kieren until he finally pushes Simon abruptly back.

“And you can stop that too.”

“What?” Simon raises his eyebrows innocently, but his gaze is now focused intently on Kieren’s lips. It doesn’t take a lot for Simon to get Kieren flustered and they both know it.

“Stop,” he searches for the right words, not quite knowing what to say in order to explain the effect Simon has on him; especially when he is looking at him like that! Frustrated, Kieren gestures to literally all of the man standing in front him, hoping he will get the message, and lamely finishes, “… _that_.”

Simon grins wickedly. “Oh, you mean _that_?”

“Yeah, _that_. And there can’t be any of _that._  Not now anyway. I’ve got to go to work in a minute.”

But his objections appear to fall on deaf ears. He makes a feeble attempt to try again, yet his efforts do not seem to be getting him anywhere as Simon looks far from deterred and leans in for the kill. His lips are millimetres away from their target, when…

There is a knock on the door.

Saved by the bell, Kieren thinks. Well, saved by the knock anyway.

“That’ll be the door,” Kieren points out unnecessarily as Simon looks down in an attempt to compose himself. Eventually and clearly reluctantly, he moves away, turning towards the front door. “Look on the bright side," Kieren continues after him, "If they’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, yer get to tell them that we’ve already been saved and given eternal life.”

“Very funny,” Simon shouts back from the hall. “If it’s Avon, you can speak to them as you’re the one who likes wearing make-up.”

Kieren rolls his eyes. He only ever wears his cover-up mousse and contact lenses for work these days. He knows now Simon was right. Once he took the step of not conforming and trying to look like the person he once was, rather than the person he is now, he finally felt free and did not want to go back. Yes, there was still a small part of him that wanted to fit in; wanted to remain unnoticed, but he knew wearing make-up and contacts to conceal his partially deceased eyes and skin was not ever going to be enough to make everyone accept him. Bearing in mind some people in Roarton would not accept him even when he was alive; he had little chance of gaining their acceptance now, regardless of his appearance and how hard he tried to hide who he really was. So he decided to try it Simon’s way instead. And at the end of the day, he is the only person that really matters to Kieren now, anyway.

Kieren hears a familiar voice coming from outside as Simon answers the door and then Philip Wilson is standing awkwardly in the hallway. He is probably the last person in the village who has a problem with their condition, but he has always been a less socially confident individual than Kieren, if that is even possible, and it badly shows. In his hands, he grips tightly a bunch of brightly coloured flowers wrapped in cellophane and Kieran instantly feels a pang of grief for Amy upon seeing him. He knows it is not Philip’s fault, but it would not be a lie to say Kieren has tried to avoid him over the last few months for that very reason. He just could not forget the look on Philip’s face; the sound of his voice as he cried for help, carrying Amy in to the medical centre covered in her vivid red blood. Amy survived leukaemia, survived death, and survived loneliness after the passing of her gran, just to be stabbed by a so-called representative of ‘Pro-Living’, the fanatical and now committed Victus MP, Maxim Martin. Sometimes life is just not fair. And neither is death, as it turns out.

“Yer alright, Phil?” Kieren asks, trying to be as friendly as possible to the man who made Amy’s last hours on earth at least happy ones for her. She died loved, and for Amy that would have been the best way to go.

Philip looks a little surprised to see Kieren in the bungalow. “Kieren moved in today,” Simon explains.

Philip nods. “Right. Well, I’m not staying. I’ve just come to, er, yer know, replace the flowers in Amy’s room. The other ones must be wilted by now.”

Kieren frowns and looks to Simon for an explanation who shakes his head in a silent plea not to question it.

“Oh. Well. That’s, erm... nice I suppose.” Kieren has absolutely no idea what to say.

“Just thought she’d like it. Something nice for her, to have flowers in her room. For when she comes back, I mean.”

Simon keeps his head down as if he were a guilty child. His hands are pressed firmly into his jeans pockets and he is deliberately avoiding Kieren's eyes as if he knows he should not be indulging such a hope and Kieren will tell him so once Philip has left. “Phil’s been bringing flowers since Amy’s funeral,” he mumbles.

“I’d put flowers on her grave too, but there doesn’t really seem to be much point. It’s not like she’s even there anymore.”

Kieren smiles at him sadly. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sure she’d appreciate what you’re doing, Phil.”

“I want her to know that I was thinking about her, every day. Every. Day." A ghost of a smile dances across his lips as if a thought has just crossed his mind. "Wouldn’t want her to think I’d forgotten about her when she gets back, otherwise there’ll be hell to pay. Yer know what she’s like.” He laughs nervously.

“Get’s back? Yer know Phil, Amy was stabbed, yeah? Doctor Russo pronounced her dead. I really don’t think…”

“She’ll think you’d forgotten about her. She knows how much ye love her,” Simon interrupts, reaching out to grip his shoulder in confirmation.

Philip smiles broadly now. “Yeah, I know. I’m just being silly. She’ll probably call me a muppet for that too.”

“Have a few things to say to me and Kieren as well, I expect,” Simon jokes, eyes still directed at the floor. He shoots the odd glance up at Kieren, who is watching him open-mouthed.

Totally bemused, Kieren decides that it is probably time to leave before this conversation gets any more bizarre. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go otherwise I’ll be late for work,” he says apologetically. And then to no one in particular, “I’ll see yer later.”

Simon and Kieren do not kiss goodbye, not in front of Philip. Somehow it would feel like rubbing his nose in it that they have each other, while he lost Amy.

As Kieren puts on his coat and leaves the bungalow, he replays their conversation in his head and wonders for the first time, who is right? After all that has happened, is it so impossible for Amy to come back? And why has Simon let Philip believe that it could happen? Does he know something Kieren does not?

The thing with Simon is that you can never be certain as he plays things quite close to his chest. They are living together now and he is fairly sure he is in love with him and that the feeling is mutual, but he still knows so little about him. They may have forever in front of them both for Kieren to find out all those details he is yet to discover, but he cannot shake off the feeling that sooner would be better than later. Especially, when it comes to Simon Monroe.

 


	2. The Legion Of The Damned

Kieren arrives at The Legion at exactly five minutes to five. They do not open for another hour, but they have had a delivery and are short staffed so it is Kieren’s task to mark it all off against the dispatch list.

As usual, while he is working, he notices Pearl reading one of her gossip mags instead of doing next week’s rota. He overhears her muttering to herself under her breath occasionally. Things like, “little tramp” or, “I wouldn’t put up with that, love, no matter how long he can go for.”

Kieren cringes inwardly as to what she is reading about.

WAT’S THE GOSS magazine is full of nonsense stories and the last time they discussed it, Pearl had told him in minute detail about a woman whose undead husband beds her every night… in his own coffin! She had even added afterward, in her usual subtle manner, “I hope yer don’t get up to that sort of thing, Kieren Walker. Yer never know what folk get up to behind closed doors.” Because, that is clearly normal behaviour for anyone who is partially deceased.

By eight o’clock the night is already dragging. There is not much to do in Roarton of an evening, so usually The Legion is packed come a Friday night. It is, however, unusually quiet this Friday. Footie on the telly, perhaps? No, no big games anyway. Not that Kieren has any interest in football and the World Cup is not for a few months yet. More likely it is just too long since last payday.

There are a couple of the local kids, who Kieren is not sure are even eighteen yet, playing on the fruit machine and a small group of PDS Sufferers sitting around the table in the far corner, bottles of bright green fluorescent liquid in front of them. They are all wearing their cover-up and contact lenses and doing their best to be as inconspicuous as possible amongst the living customers. Dean Holton has been in too, but left again after unsuccessfully trying to cadge a drink off a couple of the other locals when his money ran out. Obviously, the Roarton Protection Service, or RPS as it is better known, has not been paying very well recently. Patrols were infrequent and like the HVF, it has now practically been disbanded. Other than that, there are a few other locals and the new vicar who Kieren was introduced to a couple of weeks ago, and that is pretty much it.

As things are quiet, Kieren busies himself by sorting through birthday decorations for Jem’s birthday do the following night. His mum had asked him to pick up the box on the way to work, while Jem was still out with mates, as they had a family lunch the next day and it would be too suspicious to nip out for an hour or two then in order to do it. Pearl had agreed as a favour to Sue for him to put the decorations up the night before instead and so Keiren was currently pinning up ‘Happy 20th Birthday’ banners around the bar in preparation.

“Pint of bitter, when you’re ready, Pearl love,” asks a voice Kieren dreads to hear every night.

He is, in fact, the one that is currently tending the bar, allowing for Pearl to make a halfhearted attempt to restock the fridge beneath the optics with tonic water and tomato juice bottles at the far end, For some of The Legion’s customers, however, he might as well not even be there.

“Kieren, I’m right in the middle of this, can yer serve Gary, please?” Pearl calls over to Kieren without looking up.

Up until this point he has been doing his best to ignore Gary as he usually did and is concentrating very hard on wiping the spilled lager off the counter as a distraction, focusing intently on the sticky bits with a damp bar towel.

“Nah, you’re alright. I’ll wait thanks,” Gary shruggs. “Prefer my drinks unsullied by grotters. Might catch anything.”

That gets Kieren’s attention. “Yer what?”

“Grotters,” Gary repeated smugly, digging deep into his pocket to find some money. “I’ll have a packet of pork scratching’s as well, Pearl. Bloody starving. The chippy’s closed as their deep fat fryer’s knackered again or something.”

“Grotters?” Kieren repeats. Never heard that one before.

“For fock’s sake. Work it out, grotter!” Gary spat back at him. “Yer and that queer dry rot boyfriend of yours. Gay rotten bastards.”

Kieren wrinkles his nose in disgust, mainly due to the lack of imagination on Gary's part rather than being genuinely offended by the term. “And grotters was the best yer could come up with?” He has no idea why he let Gary get to him so much in the past. He is clearly an idiot, God only knows what Jem saw in him.

Gary just sneers and throws some change on the counter before slowly walking over to where Kieren is standing behind the bar and leaning over the counter, locks eyes with him, trying to stare him down. His fist passes inches away from Kieren's face, but Kieren doesn't flinch. He instead stays very still as Gary unhooks a packet of pork scratchings that are hanging up beside him and stares straight back.

“I’ll be over there, Pearl, when yer get round to that pint,” he says, not taking his eyes off Kieren.

Kieren remains silent, finally moving away to stack the dirty glasses in the dishwasher. He actually thinks he prefers his time working the Give Back Scheme to this. Gary always tries to intimidate him. Well, when Simon is not around anyway. He is sure he is shit scared of Simon, even if he would not admit to the fact, being an ex HVF member and all.

Next time Kieren looks at the clock on the wall, it says ten forty-five and he is counting down the minutes until his shift ends in another forty-five minutes. He is dead on his feet, having decorated the bar with banners and streamers and a few embarrassing photos of Jem that his mum has had printed on the newsagent’s photocopier earlier in the day. He has changed a couple of barrels, cleaned everything in sight, stacked and emptied the dishwasher, restocked the bar after Pearl had got distracted by some gossip about the new Dog and Duck landlady down the road and cleaned up the cellar. A few more people have come and gone, but apart from Gary it has been an uneventful evening.

“Kieren?” Pearl asks the moment he has finally settled behind the bar again. “Don’t just stand there looking gormless. Do something useful and take those crates of empties out the back for tomorrow’s collection.”

“Yes, commandant,” Kieren says under his breath, while giving her a salute and clicking his heels together as soon as her back is turned. But he goes to get the crates to take out the back anyway.

It is pitch black outside and the back door creaks as he pushes it open. Hauling the crates and dumping them by the black wheelie bins, the empty bottles clang when he sets them down, echoing around him in the otherwise silent nighttime.

He has a strange feeling that he is not alone.

Craning his neck around the side of the building, he peers into the darkness to see who is there. The perimeter fence erected by the members of the Give Back Scheme, including himself, is meant to keep out any remaining rabids from wandering into the village, but it is worth always being on your guard. Although it has to be said, that is mostly from the Roarton living rather than undead. Gary is still in the pub and eager to earn another eighty pounds for a capture, but his methods are brutal and Kieren is sure he is still packing despite the village's ban on weapons.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Kieren turns to go back into the pub and then jumps out of his skin.

_“Christ!"_

There's a dark figure behind him leaning against the wall and he can just make out the faint red glow of a lit cigarette.

"Yer nearly gave me a heart attack!” Kieren whispers, lowering his voice to a more reasonable volume for the time of night.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ye,” a familiar voice says in the shadows.

Kieren releases the breath he was unknowingly holding. “Simon! What yer doing here?”

“Thought I’d come and see how my favourite bartender was getting on.”

“Bored out of my mind. I swear being dead’s more fulfilling than this,” he says, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers as if he is developing a migraine. One of the few perks of being partially deceased is no headaches, no stomach aches or feeling sick, catching colds or chest infections. Basically, turning rabid is the one and only health concern on the cards these days.

There is a glint in Simon’s eyes and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Unlike Kieren, Simon has learned to take his partially deceased life by the collar and kick it into touch to make it work for him. This time around, he thinks, life is going to be very different. He will not squander the second chance he has been given; especially not now he has found a reason to (partially) live for.

He focuses his stare on that reason and the white of his irises float in the darkness like twin moons. “I was just contemplating actually, how being dead is proving to be quite fulfilling these days.”

“Partially deceased,” Kieren responds automatically.

Simon raises a single eyebrow at the correction. “Sorry, _partially deceased_.” He is not keen on the term. It has always struck him as a negative rather than positive way to describe their condition. It is the difference between whether a glass is half empty or half full. Are the redeemed not partially living in equal measure to partially deceased?

A train rumbles past and they hear the chime of the bar bell coming from inside the pub. “That’ll be last orders. Yer coming in?” Kieren nods towards the door. “We’ve had some bottles delivered of that HiGlow, finally, if you fancy trying it?”

Pushing himself off the wall, Simon slowly approaches him like a predator hunting prey. “Well, I fancy something.”

“Behave you,” Kieren objects, in mock horror. Honestly, the man is insatiable! He is chuffed to the core with Simon’s constant attentions, but pushes him back away for a second time that evening regardless. He is, after all, still at work.

“So, yer gonna try it then? The HiGlow, I mean.”

Simon takes one last drag of his roll-up cigarette and then drops it on the pavement, crushing it underfoot to extinguish it. “Nah, me and intoxicants have never been the greatest of bedfellows. Probably best I give it a miss.”

“You’re smoking,” Kieren points out, kicking the cigarette butt off the concrete and onto the grass with his boot. Pearl will have him sweeping up outside otherwise.

“It’s not exactly the same thing.”

“Yeah, when did yer start that anyway? I don’t remember yer smoking before.”

“When I was eleven. Started by nicking a few fags off me dad. He always had a packet of Mayfair on the go. Gave up for a bit after The Rising, but once a smoker, always a smoker,” Simon sniffs, a little disgruntled by his lack of self-control.

“I suppose it’s not like those things are gonna kill yer now.”

They both laugh at the irony, but neither really find it funny.

“No, s’pose not. Not that that ever bothered me before. Especially when I found better stuff to occupy my time with.”

Despite the dim light, Kieren automatically glances at Simon’s track marked forearms. There are deep angry purple veins raised inside his elbows, scarred by needles from when he was alive. He cannot see them, as despite the mild evening, the partially deceased do not feel the heat or the cold and he still has his coat on, but Kieren knows they are there.

“Still, ye gotta allow a bloke one vice, living or undead.”

Kieren opens the back door and then remembering something, stops to turn back to Simon. “Oh, if you’re coming in, be warned, Gary the Tosser’s in tonight.”

Simon holds the door open for Kieren to pass. “Lucky us. He been giving ye grief?”

“Always,” Kieren sighs. He thinks back to their conversation over Gary’s newfound word, “I won’t even bore yer with the latest.”

“No, go on, I could do with a laugh. Let’s see if we can’t brighten up his evening then, shall we?”

Kieren knows he will not get any more trouble from Gary that night, not now Simon is there with him and enters the pub smiling.

Simon does not make conversation with any of the other punters while he waits for Kieren’s shift to end. The PDS Sufferers who are still huddled around the corner table, having already made a dent in The Legion’s HiGlow stock, are not part of the Roarton Risers who think him a traitor, but he still doesn't go over to say hello. His ‘cult leader’ status, as Kieren calls it, is dead and buried. Many of the living still give him a wide birth and Gary, as Kieren predicted, stays well clear. They have only had a couple of run-ins in the past, but on both occasions, Gary came off far worse and clearly does not want to make it into a hat-trick for Simon. A copy of a local newspaper, the Roarton Gazette, has been left on the bar, so Simon sits at one end, flicking through it to occupy himself as Kieren serves the last orders of the night.

The new vicar approaches the bar and asks for a scotch, “for the road.” He is not local or even from Lancashire and his accent stands out as much as Simon’s does. He is in his late thirties, early forties, perhaps? Tall, with long narrow features and short cropped hair that has begun to recede. He smiles frequently and Kieren cannot help but think it is a grin that would put sharks to shame. Still, he seems nice enough and even tries to make conversation with Kieren, as he presses a fresh glass to the whisky bottle optic.

“That fella waiting for you?” he asks in a Liverpudlian accent, nodding is Simon’s direction.

“Yeah, he is,” Kieren confirms, not wishing to go into any detail and instead just places the drink on the bar. “That’s £2.70 please?”

The vicar hands over three pound coins. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” Kieren mumbles, putting the cash in the till and the remaining change in the tips jar, which is otherwise empty.

“He doesn’t drink? They have that new Hi-something drink, don’t they? For PDS Sufferers I mean?”

They both look over at Simon, who is engrossed in one of the articles in the paper, but Kieren has not missed the inflection on the “ _they._ ”

“Yeah, _we_ PDS Sufferers do. Haven’t tried it yet, but it seems to be popular,” he says, gesturing towards the far corner.

“Ah, sorry, you’re PDS too, are you? Didn’t realise it were make-up you were wearing.”

"Haven't really been catching that much sun recently, if that's what yer were thinking. The Lancashire weather being the way it is and partially deceased aren't entitled to have passports. Pretty much means a tan's off the cards these days." Not that his skin could sun tan now anyway.

"Maybe Roarton should open up its first tanning salon, in that case?" It is clearly meant as a joke, but then suddenly the vicar's expression turns serious as he considers the situation. “It must be trying living in a place like this. Hard on your family too, I bet? Haven’t been here long, but prejudice is an ugly thing, ugly!" He puts his glass to his lips and then as an afterthought adds, "Not to mention a sin.”

Kieren can see he is trying and cannot help but warm to him in return. “Some people are more difficult than others around here, but we get by. Things are getting better. Was thinking of leaving Roarton a few months ago, but Simon kinda talked me out of it.”

“Simon? That’s your friend over there?”

Kieren nods. “I’ll introduce you, if yer like?” Clearly, he is trying his best to get to know everyone in the village, living and undead alike, which certainly makes a change from the last vicar. They both make their way over to the end of the bar where Simon is sitting. “This is Simon.”

The vicar offers Simon his hand. “Ah, yes Simon Monroe. Very nice to meet you.”

Simon stares at his outstretched hand for a moment as if he doesn't know what he means by extending it to him. Any sort of physical contact is not usually the first order of business for the living upon meeting someone so openly PDS as Simon and although he hasn't got any visible scars on his face like some others, Kieren can see how intimating he could be to those who do not know him (and even to those who do.) He begins to wonder if Simon will leave the vicar hanging, but after a beat, Simon takes his hand and proceeds to shake it. Kieren smiles to himself at this. Nothing ever seems to phase Simon and he carries on in his usual calm and confident manner, which Kieren has seen a dozen times before.

The vicar, to his credit, doesn't react to the unnatural coolness of Simon's skin and smiles warmly during the entire introduction, but there is something different about this first meeting between strangers. Kieren cannot help but notice that his boyfriend appears to be instantly on his guard and his eye’s narrow is suspicion.

“Do I know ye?” Simon asks slowly.

“This is Father Sinclair,” Kieren says. “Vicar Oddie’s replacement.”

“Dr. David Sinclair,” he clarifies.

“A priest and a doctor?” Simon looks surprised. “Must be difficult to be a servant to both faith and science?”

“Please, call me David. No dog collar tonight,” he pulls unconsciously at his open neck shirt. “I’m off duty at the moment.”

There is a pause then when no one says anything. Kieren starts to fidget uncomfortably as he tries to think of something to say to break the silence and move the conversation on, but Simon takes pity on him and forces himself to ask a question he has no interest in learning the answer to. “So what are ye doing in a village like Roarton, Father?” he asks, his tone a little friendlier for Kieren's sake.

Vicar Sinclair takes this as an invitation to stay and settles himself on the bar stool next to Simon before replying. “Roarton seems to have had more than its fair share of troubles of late, so I thought what better place to do God’s work in.” He gestures around them in a hypothetical manner and all three automatically look around the pub taking in The Legion's patrons that still only consist of the few locals that are spending their dole money on the mostly empty glasses in front of them, the trying-to-be-invisible partially deceased group hiding in the corner and the black and white photocopied photos of Jem haphazardly pinned sporadically over the fading wallpaper on each wall of the bar. It's a grim scene to be sure.

“Like I said, things are settling down now,' Kieren points out, trying hard to sound positive. "It’s not the same as it was.'

“I’m very glad to hear it,” the new Vicar smiles casually. “Kieren here tells me you persuaded him to stay in the village? You’re obviously living up to your name, Simon. It’s a good, strong name you’ve got there.” Simon remains quiet. Too quiet. Sometimes Kieren thinks he is like a coiled snake, still and silent, beautiful but deadly and always ready for the attack. Vicar Sinclair, however, doesn't seem to notice and instead asks, “Did you know that Simon was the name of one of the twelve disciples? Jesus used to refer to him as his rock.” Simon and Kieren exchange uneasy glances, but the vicar continues on regardless as if his question were rhetorical. “Blessed are you, Simon, as upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father.”

Simon knows this passage all too well. “Matthew, Chapter 16.”

“You know your New Testament?” The Vicar smiles appreciatively in surprise.

“I was brought up in Dublin as a Catholic.”

“Of course. Well, I hope in that case, I’ll see the both of you this Sunday? Catholics and Protestants may have had equal troubles in the past to the living and undead of late, but we all pray to the same God.”

The undead at church? There is an idea.

“Vicar Oddie didn’t allow PDS at his services,” Kieren tells him. “Some people around here…”

“Well, I’m not Vicar Oddie,” he interrupts. “And everyone is most welcome in my church. That goes for the living, partially deceased and already redeemed, alike. All are equal in the eyes of the Lord.”

Simon nods in understanding as Kieren moves away quietly, leaving them to it and rings the small brass bell, closing the bar.

 

\---

 

They both walk briskly home after closing, eager to be back in the seclusion of the bungalow and their new home together. Kieren’s eyes are uncomfortable, no longer used to wearing the contact lenses he once wore all the time. He cannot wait to take them out and clean the cover-up off his face. The stuff gets everywhere and he seems to be constantly washing the flesh tone smears off his clothes these days when he wears it. Didn't notice it before, but now it feels like an iron mask on his face and part of him loathes himself for giving in and wearing it to work. He also feels ashamed, like he is letting Simon down somehow, but he knows he understands and respects his decision. People wear uniforms for work all the time, a way to unify themselves and Kieren rationally tells himself this is no different. He knows it is a lie though and every time the thought crosses his mind there is a little stab of guilt prodding at him deep in his chest between his ribs.

The village is quiet. They have not passed a single person on their journey. There is no moon out tonight and a heavy cover of cloud conceals the night sky, but it is pleasant and Kieren feels the stress of the evening gradually abate as they talk together, mostly about nothing in particular, while walking the mile home on the deserted streets. They speak in hushed tones, despite there being no one to overhear them.

“Are yer serious?” Kieren asks.

He would call it surprised, but flabbergasted is closer. The very idea that Simon would want to take up Vicar Sinclair’s suggestion of attending church was quite frankly shocking to Kieren.

Simon’s tone is even and gives nothing away. “Why not?”

“Just thought you’d had enough of all that cult stuff?”

“The ULA is not a cult and neither is Christianity,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment. “He just reminds me of someone.”

Kieren wants to ask who, but stops himself just in time. He realises almost too late that the person Simon is referring to is probably his mother. Raising her son a Catholic, she no doubt would have imparted religious instruction to him on a regular basis and for that reason perhaps church could bring a small measure of comfort to Simon and ease the pain of his guilt and loss just a little.

“I’ll come along too. If yer want, that is?” Kieren backpedals. “Can’t hurt to find out what he’s all about, I guess."

Simon smiles back absently, half his mind obviously on other matters. “Ye don’t have to.”

“No. I want to!” Now this is serious backpedalling. “You do stuff for me and I do stuff for you. That’s how this is supposed to work.”

“How _this_ is supposed to work, huh? Didn't know it came with a rule book," Simon teases. "Okay, Sunday then.”    

“Fine. It’s not like we’re going to be nursing hangovers from the night before. Unlike Jem,” Kieren grins, as only an older brother can, at the prospect of his baby sister’s forthcoming self-inflicted pain.

But there was something else that had been playing on Kieren’s mind all evening and it had nothing to do with religion or village politics. Ever since he left the bungalow, it had kept drifting back to the forefront of his mind and he finds himself asking Simon a question before he even thought through what he is really asking. “Yer know what yer were saying to Phil earlier?”

Simon turns to glance at him. “What was I saying to Phil?”

“About Amy and coming back?” Well, he has brought it up now. “Using her name in the present tense. Yer don’t think it’s cruel, giving him hope like that?”

Simon shakes his head. In so many ways there is a huge gulf between the way the two men think, but in a funny sort of way, that is exactly what makes it work.

“There’s nothing cruel about hope, Kieren.”

“It is if that hope is hopeless,” Kieren reasons. That nagging feeling that Simon knows more than he is letting on pricks at his subconscious again.

“Why do ye think that allowing yourself to be open to the possibility of Amy coming back is hopeless?”

There it was again. “Because she’s dead!”

Simon shrugs. “And didn’t we die?”

“Yes. No." Kieren glares back at him. He is mostly cross with himself though for falling for such an obvious trap. "That’s not what I meant and yer know it.”

Simon half smiles in that lopsided way of his. It was not hard to see why he had been chosen by the ULA as one of the twelve disciples of the Undead Prophet. Sometimes talking to him was like asking a politician for a straight answer.

“I know what ye meant, but death is not always the end. We’re proof of that, ye and me.”

That was cryptic, infuriatingly vague and highly suspicious. Now he is sure Simon is aware of something. So Kieren tries again.

But Simon gets there first. “Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tunes without the words, And never stops at all.”

“Okay…” He does love Simon, but he is fucking weird sometimes.

Clearly he is not going to get more of an answer on the subject, not tonight anyway. Maybe Simon does not know anything and Kieren is just being a little bit paranoid? After all, there is no reason to keep anything like that a secret, so he decides to drop the subject and keep on walking, putting his hands in his pockets and unconsciously shivering. They walk so close together, Simon can feel the tremor that runs through his body. “Ye cold?” he asks with genuine concerned.

Kieren is surprised by the question; of course he isn't. They can't feel temperature, hot or cold and Simon obviously know this. “No, don’t feel a thing. Automatic reflex I expect.”

“Right,” Simon answers, giving him a long stare that makes Kieren feel a little uncomfortable, so he looks away quickly and carries on walking.

There is a strange group of lights in the distance, across the fields and from the same direction, the faint sound of music carries on a gentle breeze that makes the trees sway from side to side. Kieren slows his pace and squints with his eyes and his ears, trying to make out what it is.

“What’s that over there?”

Simon stops to look back at Kieren who has fallen behind, “Where?”

“There,” Kieren points toward the lights. “Looks like a group of… caravans or something?”

Simon shakes his head. “Dunno. Travellers maybe?”

“That’ll please the parish council. Expect there’ll be an emergency meeting on Monday morning over it. Still, keep them off of our backs for a while.” Kieren feels guilty the instant the words have left his mouth. “Not that exchanging the targeting of one minority group for another is a good thing,” he clarifies in a half apologetic, half joking manner.

“Come on, let’s get ye home,” Simon says, taking Kieren’s hand, “There’s a double bed with our name on it waiting for us.”

“Now, _that’s_ the best thing I’ve heard all night.”

They quicken their pace. The dead coming back to life, church and travellers, all run a distant second on their list of priorities compared to what they have planned for the rest of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve tried to stick to canon as strictly as possible with only a couple of deviations - new characters for the purpose of going forward with the story, not withstanding.
> 
> In Series 1 we learn Steve has bought a new flat screen television, while Kieren has been ‘away’ and it seemed unlikely he would purchase a new one only a year on. In the Flesh has some great humorous moments and so the idea of Simon helping Steve with such a domestic family situation, such as setting up a new TV in the first chapter, was too good to pass up - but then something had to have happened to the previous flat screen - so, sorry Jem, you kinda got the blame for that one!
> 
> The other divergence I made from canon was to have Simon smoke roll up cigarettes. Bill Macy was practically a chain smoker in Series 1 and Gary was smoking when they captured the two rabids by the cave, but I can't recall seeing a single character in Series 2 smoke or use mobile (cell) phones for that matter; two things that for most people are quite common place. Mobile reception would probably be pretty poor in a small village like Roarton - being in the back end of beyond, especially located in a valley and surrounded by hills - so landlines and phone boxes do make more sense. The no smoking was obviously a deliberate decision on the creator’s part though, as it's usually a staple feature for working class characters in British drama.
> 
> Emmett Scanlan, an ex smoker himself, mentioned on the DVD commentary for the film ‘Christian Blake’ that he would quite like to play a character again who smokes, so although this version of Simon will never be acted out by him in reality, it made sense to me for his character to be a smoker, because he clearly has an addictive personality. Recreational drugs may have no effect on the partially deceased (sheep's brains not included) in addition to the fact he has no real reason anymore to take them, but smoking is as much about the habit for a lot of people as dependance on the nicotine - plus it gives him some time out when ‘normal’ gets a bit too much for him.
> 
> Finally, the poem Simon quotes is by the American poet, Emily Dickinson. Thought I would give Yeats a break for a while, and Simon no doubt has a whole library of poetry stored away in his head from which he can quote from. I do like my zombies to have brains as well as beauty!


	3. Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting

Kieren wakes in the morning to find himself wrapped in Simon’s arms, his back pressed against his chest. He lies there for a while, listening to the soft sound of breathing against the back of his neck. He has spent the night at the bungalow on numerous occasions over the past few months, but it was still a little strange to be waking up somewhere new - only strange in a good way.

Raising his head, he peers over at the clock by the bed. The Walkers were having a family BBQ at lunchtime in celebration of Jem’s twentieth, before her big birthday bash at The Legion later. Family members only - well except for Simon and Jem’s new fella - Matthew Lonsdale, whoever he was.

Apparently, Jem had met him in some club in town last month. He was twenty-one, a college student and was studying business studies, but best of all, had nothing to do whatsoever with the HVF during the war. It did not really matter to Kieren who he was - anyone would be better than Gary Kendal and so far Jem had not shut up about him. So whoever he turned out to be, he automatically got Kieren’s vote.

Jem had had a tough time of it of late and it was good for her to have something nice and normal in her life now. Having joined the HVF at only fourteen, she had seen and done things no teenager should have to during The Rising. Instead of going on shopping sprees and discussing boys with her mates, or sneaking out behind her parent's back down the park and getting pissed on litre bottles of White Lightning cider and trying to get served cigarettes in the local off-license, she was killing Rabids and watching her brothers in arms ripped limb from limb in front of her, while working dangerous patrols late into the night.

The experience had had a lasting and damaging effect and left her with PTSD. She was getting through it though. With the support of her family, regular counselling and prescribed anti-depressants for the anxiety, she was making good progress and had not woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, haunted by nightmares of the war, for some time now.

 

Attempting to untangle himself from Simon, Kieren moves to get up, but strong arms tightened their grip around him and there are cool lips pressing gentle kisses along his naked shoulder.

“Ye going somewhere?” asks a drowsy voice against his skin.

“We both are actually. It’s half nine and we’ve got a BBQ to go to,” answers Kieren, still trying to extract himself from Simon’s embrace. His heart is not really in it though and he lays still after a moment, giving himself over to just enjoying the sensation.

“Relax,” Simon soothes softly, barely more than a whisper. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

For what exactly?

“Yeah, but I said I’d drop in at The Legion first to make sure everything’s okay for tonight. Pearl was fussing about the DJ they’ve got booked. Anyway, how can yer still be tired?”

Simon is now on the NHS sanctioned PDS medication after his supplies ran out from the ULA. Considering what he put himself through with Halperin & Weston for the drug to be developed, he was hesitant at first to convert, but his relationship with the ULA was not in the best of places right now, so he had little choice in the matter - unless he wanted to turn rabid again or be sent back to Norfolk as a non-compliant.

Despite Simon’s strong moral objections to taking it, it clearly worked far better for him than it did for Kieren, who could never sleep for any length of time. Kieren no longer had flashbacks from his untreated days as a Rabid, but the phrase ‘sleep when I’m dead’ certainly did not resonate with him in any way, shape or form. On Doctor Russo’s advice, he had moved on to Neurotriptyline Plus recently, which according to the pharmaceutical company’s leaflet that came in the box was the ‘next generation’ of Neurotriptyline. Shirley Wilson had reassured him most PDS were transferring over to it now as it promised to increase sleep duration, decrease anxiety or nervousness and lessen interpersonal distress - although Kieren had not really noticed any difference, if he was honest – but he had got some funny side effects since taking it. Sometimes his hands would shake for no apparent reason, but that was mainly after his daily dose had been administered. He had started to experience tremors some months before - as far back as December, in fact - which was one of the reasons he had changed to the new drug in the first place.

On the new medication, it had only become more frequent however, even having the occasional blackout and nosebleed once or twice. He put it to the back of his mind, making a deal with himself that he would only mention it to Doctor Russo if it persisted.

Or maybe, only if it happened more frequently?

Yes, that was a better idea. No point in bringing it up otherwise.

Norfolk was always only too happy to take people back for ‘further treatment’ and those he had known who had be carted off by the men in white coats were never seen again. Like Alex taking Blue Oblivion, while still in the treatment centre, and Freddie Preston last year, missing a single dose and reverting to a rabid state. Gary had packed him off as a non-compliant and Freddie, even now, had still not returned to Roarton Valley. Kieren suspected he never would.

“I’m tired, because someone kept me up most of the night breaking in our new sleeping arrangements,” Simon complains, sounding far from put out by the circumstances.

“I kept _you_ up?” Kieren snorts, hoping the comment was not meant as a euphemism. “Make sure yer don’t say anything like that in front of me dad later. I can still remember the look on his face over lunch that time, when yer said we met at work as yer, “liked the way I gave back.” Thought he was going to choke on his Sunday roast!”

Simon opens his eyes in defeat. Clearly further sleep was going to be impossible.

“Kieren?” he asks, pulling at his shoulder for Kieren to turn around and face him, causing the bed springs to creak as they move. Kieren obliges, laying flat on his back as Simon moves over him, kissing him deeply. This was a far better way to start the day.

He brushes his fingertips over Kieren’s cover-up free cheekbones, around his jaw, and drags his thumb over his lips. His expression is serious and sincere.

“You’re beautiful, ye know that?”

“Well I wouldn’t say beautiful, _morgeous_ as Amy would say, maybe?” Kieren grins, making light of the compliment. He still is not used to receiving them.

The corners of Simon’s lips curl slightly at the mention of their veracious and sorely missed friend.

“Okay, that too,” he concedes, pausing for a moment, as if there is something that has been weighing heavy on his mind. Kieren can see the internal battle going on inside his head as to whether or not now is the time to mention it.

Kieren makes the decision for him and helps him out. “Come on then, what?”

Simon looks back at him, critically. “When are ye going to stop trying to pretend to the world that you’re somebody that you’re not?”

Kieren frowns. This is unexpected.

“Sorry, I don’t know what yer mean? I’ve stopped wearing the cover-up and contacts, well except for work.” He knows that.

“And yet, you’re still hiding away from who ye really are, Kieren.”

What is he talking about? “I don’t follow.”

Simon takes a moment, waiting to see if he will comprehend his meaning, but Kieren just gazes back, all wide eyes and extraordinary.

He takes Kieren’s free hand in his own, threading their fingers through one another and pressing their palms together. He needs to connect with him and it is as much a gesture of affection as it is a symbol.

“Where does your dad think you’re sleeping now?”

Kieren raises both eyebrows in surprise. This feels like a trick. He does not want to sound facetious, as clearly Simon is trying to make a point here, but he is just not sure what that point is. So far the conversation, quite frankly, is continuing straight over his head.

“In the bungalow?” he answers, practically another question. Is that what he meant?

Simon drags his eyes away from Kieren’s and directs them unseeing towards the end of the bed, nodding fractionally in disappointment.

“Ye should tell Steve, ye know? Let him know who ye are.”

Oh? Oh!

There is silence for a moment as Kieren ponders his words. Simon is right of course, but is he ready to bare all? Could he not just have some time for himself to enjoy it, before he has to make some big stand once again? Sometimes his whole life – first and second - felt like one continual never ending battle, fighting the rest of the world after he had won the war with himself.

Kieren squeezed his fingers around Simon’s, claiming back his attention.

‘I know and I will’, his look says, but for now he just vocalises, “Can you stop talking, please?”

“Kieren, I’m sorry. Look I kn…” but whatever Simon is going to say is silenced with a kiss.

He is hesitant at first. They both knew the conversation was far from over and there was more to be discussed, but with a little encouragement, Simon is soon pressing back into the kiss once again.

They continue to kiss. Going from reassuring but tentative brushes of lips and tongues, reaffirming their trust in one another; to more passionate declarations of the unconditional love they shared, that left them both catching their breath.

Kieren eventually and with some regret, pulls away. Before things could go any further, he did need to say something more on the subject.

“Can yer just give me some time?”

Simon nods in understanding. After all, he does not want to force Kieren. It had to be his decision at the end of the day, regardless of how strongly he felt about it.

“And it's not like we don't have quite a bit of it on our hands now,” Kieren reasons, “But I do know you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Simon teases, breaking the tension. Kieren just smiles back bravely.

Truthfully, the very idea made him nervous, to say the least. Not because he feared his dad’s rejection, but Kieren had put Steve through a lot in recent years. It was Steve who had ventured out that night in November five years ago. Jem had told him about the cave Rick and he would hang out in, and he had found his son’s lifeless body there, slumped on a rock and drenched in his own blood, weeping from vertical slashes carved deep into each fragile wrist. Kieren later learned that Steve had shut down completely after his death. Sue blamed him, even though she knew she should not, but grief manifests itself in various different ways and once Kieren had returned to them, she was finally able to admit the anger she had bottled up for so long.

The fact was, Steve had not always fought Kieren’s corner to begin with, but when it mattered, he was always there for him in the end. If he could accept his son coming out as an openly Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferer - even be proud of him when he finally understood the courage it had taken for him to do so - they should be able to get through this.

Steve was not Bill Macy. It would be all right.

At least, he hoped it would.

In time, anyway - and time had a habit of healing all wounds, no matter how deep they cut.

Three quarters of an hour later, Kieren finally escapes from the bed; a little more exhausted, but a lot surer of his future. His future (and present) stays in bed just a little longer.

 

Showered and dressed, Kieren unboxes Jem’s birthday present in the kitchen, ready to be wrapped, when Simon comes over to give him his morning shot. He was used to it by now, but still winces as the medication floods his system. Moments later he experiences the usual tremor, but does his best to conceal it from Simon. He does not want to be a further worry to anyone.

“Thanks,” he says, swapping positions with Simon and taking the second injector from his hand to administer his dose.

“This for Jem?” Simon asks, examining the brightly painted calavera on the table.

“Yep. Yer know she has a thing about skulls, though she can’t have a lotta room for many more. Her bedroom’s beginning to look like an ossuary as it is.”

Kieren pulls Simon’s shirt collar away from his neck and upper back and is immediately confronted with the ragged black scar between his shoulder blades, running down the length of his spin. It is a war wound left behind from the experimentation carried out on him at the treatment centre - although torture centre might have been a better description.

It serves as a stark reminder to Kieren of what Simon had gone through and those experiences that drove him to hold the beliefs he imparted to him and other Roarton PDS when they first met. In retrospect, Kieren could not blame him for their first argument at the GP’s surgery with two doped Rabids, caged like animals, and about to be packed off and shipped out to Norfolk. If he had known then what he knew now, perhaps Simon could have persuaded him to break them out and treat them back at the bungalow as he had suggested at the time. They had been blamed for their escape anyway, when Zoe and Brian had made good on Simon’s idea – well, the part about releasing them anyway. The CCTV had not be running over the weekend to prove their innocence, and the attack on the medical centre receptionist, Denise, as a consequence of their ULA inspired mission, had helped no one.

It had only been a few months, but Kieren’s concept of the term ‘treatment’ had shifted quite considerably in that short time, having gotten to know Simon better. When they had discussed their differences of opinion of the right thing to do back then, their conversation had meant very different things to each of them based on their own experiences with Halperin & Weston. From Kieren’s perspective, he felt the best thing for any PDS Sufferer still in their rabid state would be to be treated at Norfolk with the proper drugs, where Simon believed they would only be fairly treated by the ULA. The cruelty-free homebrew medication they used was not the issue, basic PDS rights were.

 

As Kieren administers his dose, Simon turns the grapefruit sized clay skull in his hands and frowns, “Aren’t these meant to be made of sugar?”

“Sure, if you’re in Mexico. Had to get that off the Internet.”

Visiting North America, for the Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations, was something that had always been marked down on his Bucket List. With all registered PDS Sufferers however, not having a valid passport until they had completed at least six months on the Give Back Scheme - and as a result their cases reviewed and certificates granted - he was not going anywhere.

Standing up, Simon tidies away the injectors and puts the bottles of medication back in the fridge, while Kieren begins wrapping Jem’s present.

“Ye want me to come with ye down to The Legion before we go to your folks house?”

“Nah, I won’t be long, I’ll meet yer at mum and dad’s,” Kieren says, adding a last piece of sellotape to the present, before starting to fill out Jem’s birthday card, which has ‘BAD ASS’ appropriately emblazoned across the front.

“I’m putting this from both of us, by the way,” he adds. Even if he has not told Steve about the two of them yet, he still makes it clear to his family in every other way that they are a couple.

Kieren licks the envelope and seals it. “Hey, don’t forget Jem’s bringing that new boyfriend of hers, Matthew… or Matt? I think he prefers Matt. That’s what Jem calls him anyway – every two seconds.”

“Let’s hope he’s not as bad as the last one, ay?” Simon says, looking around for his lighter. Tobacco is going to be required later on in that case.

“I think that would be a pretty tall order, even for Jem,” Kieren states, standing up to start the busy day ahead of them.

 

\---

 

Kieren notices that Jem has been staring at Simon expectantly since he arrived at the house. He wants to ask what is going on, but waits it out instead. Jem is not the most patient of people and certainly not backward in coming forward, so he suspects he will not have long to wonder.

“So, come on then,” she finally asks, brimming with anticipation when she and Simon are sitting alone in the back garden together, “Yer said you’d teach me some moves on my birthday. Well, it’s my birthday, isn’t it?”

“What’s this?” Steve asks, coming back from the garden shed with a large bag of paraffin soaked charcoal, Kieren in tow with a box of matches and stainless steel tongs.

After struggling for a bit, Kieren’s offers of help ignored, Steve manages to get the correct amount of charcoal in the base of the BBQ and lights it, blowing gently and waving it with his hands like it is a camp fire he is trying to get going.

“First time Si met Gary was down at The Legion. Kier told me that Gaz kicked off – big surprise there - and went for him. But Si caught him in a headlock before he could get anywhere near. Said he’d show me some stuff.”

Steve stops concentrating on the flames that are taking hold and looks up, somewhat alarmed.

“Not sure we want any fighting today, Jemima.”

“It’s not fighting dad, it’s ‘self-defence’,” she corrects, making virtual quotation marks in the air with her fingers to emphasise the fact. “It’s so I can take care of meself without me Colt, so if I come across a Rabid I can protect meself, while no one gets hurt.”

Steve seems satisfied. “Oh, well in that case, it doesn’t sounds like a bad idea. Hey, maybe your mum could learn some of these techniques too?”

“Mum?” Jem laughs, “I don’t think so, dad. Strictly for bad asses.”

Steve scowls at the term and directs his attention back to the BBQ.

“Please, Si, yer did promise,” Jem presses, directing her eyes at her brother, imploringly, “Kier, tell him will yer?”

Simon sighs in defeat before Kieren is forced to take sides. “Yeah, yeah, alright, alright. Come on then, yous,” he says, rising to his feet.

“Wait, we need a target,” she looks to Steve, dismissing the idea immediately, and then to her brother. “Bro, come over here and pretend to be rabid.”

“What? NO! I’m not getting involved in this. Spent all the time I want being rabid, thanks.”

“It’s only pretend, dickhead. Come on Kier, it’ll be a laugh.”

Jem does her best to look crest fallen and tries the same method on him that worked so well on Simon only moments before. “And it _is_ my birthday.”

Kieren visibly caves in. Pretty impressive - she has managed to guilt trip both Simon and Kieren into helping her with her self-defence class in exactly the same way.

“Fine,” Kieren concedes, rolling his eyes. “What am I doing then?”

Jem jumps up enthusiastically, pleased to be getting her own way so easily.

“Dunno, just walk around like you’re rabid or something? Do what they do in the horror films.”

She has got to be kidding.

“Jem, Rabids aren’t anything like Hollywood zombies.” As if she did not know.

Jem narrows her eyes at him giving him a withering look. Recognising when he is beaten, Kieren huffs loudly and holds his arms out stretched in front of him. Locking his limbs and walking in a stiff manner, as seen in every zombie apocalypse film ever made. He begins to groan, “Grrr” and feels like a complete idiot for his troubles.

Hands on hips, Jem presses her lips together and looks to the ground, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. Simon is harder to read, somewhere between mildly offended and surprisingly amused. He stares at Kieren’s actions in front of him with raised eyebrows and mutters what sounds like, “Jesus Christ” under his breath, shaking his head.

Kieren stops abruptly at the reactions, folding his arms and pouting his lips. Yes, he does pout on occasion - secretly Simon finds it endearing.

“Forget it!”

Steve’s been watching in amazement the whole time. “I thought that was very good, Kieren. Very authentic,” he beams. “You were always pretty good in those school plays of yours.”

Kieren wrinkles his face at the sour memory. “Er, last school play I was in, dad, was when I was eleven in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and I played a tree!”

Steve looks as if he is trying to remember this momentous event, but Kieren carries on regardless.

“As I recall, your assessment of my acting abilities then was, and I quote, “You were really wooden in it.””

His sister is still trying to compose herself. “I think dad meant that as a complement, Kier,” she interjects, between ragged breaths.

Kieren has really had enough now. He knows he sounds petulant, but he cannot help it. “Look, are we doing this or not?”

Simultaneously, Jem and Simon both instantly agree, moving things along quickly.

“Right, Kieren walk toward me. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with ye,” Simon winks, but it is not him Kieren is worried about; it is Bad Ass over there.

Simon demonstrates a couple of things and Jem practices them under his supervision. Kieren meanwhile is just glad his skin cannot bruise; otherwise he is sure he would be black and blue come the morning. Jem is really enjoying herself though, so he grins and bears it. The things a big brother will do for his sister!

She is throwing everything she has got into it now and making good progress by the time the doorbell rings.

“Sue, can yer get the door please, love,” Steve calls out to his wife in the kitchen, who herself is currently elbow deep in potato salad. “I’ve just put the sausages on the BBQ.”

“Can’t someone else get it? I’m a bit tied up here meself!” a muffled voice calls back from inside the house.

“It’s alright, I’ll go. You two, keep practicing,” Simon instructs in a mock stern voice, pointing at both Kieren and Jem in accusation.

“Cheers Simon, don’t want these sausages to burn,” Steve says, turning the browning meat.

Simon makes his way through the house, past the kitchen, which is full of bowls and plates containing cold side dishes and other savoury concoctions - enough to feed a small army he thinks - and heads for the porch. He can see a young man in his early twenties with smart designer jeans and bright red t-shirt through the glass. Tall, fair and conventionally handsome - if you like that sort of thing - he is waiting patiently with a gift-wrapped box in his hand.

Simon opens the front door.

“Er, hello,” the visitor manages to say after a moment. He looks as if he is trying to decide whether or not to follow his instincts and run, or stand his ground and brave it out. The latter appears to win over after a few more seconds tick by in silence; all the while Simon continues to stare down at him.

He clears his throat, trying to sound more confident. “Sorry, have I got the right house? I’m looking for Jemima Walker.”

Ah, the new boyfriend. “Ye must be Matthew, it’s good to meet ye. I’m Simon.”

“Matt,” he corrects, extending a slightly nervous hand. “Nice to meet yer too. Oh you’re Kieren’s… er, sorry, Jem didn’t tell me yer were PDS.”

Simon shakes his hand firmly and smiles in welcome. Matthew tries not to recoil at the icy touch. He has not met anyone who is partially deceased before now. Seen them on the news of course and the posters in the doctor’s surgery. Might have passed one at a distance on the street even, but he has never been close enough to touch one or have a proper look before. It is the first time he has seen their pinprick eyes with his own or touched their cold skin. He knows he is staring, but is not sure whether to feel intimidated by Simon, or if this is what all PDS are usually like.

“Everyone’s out the back in the garden, if ye wanna follow me,” Simon says, leading the way around the side of the house instead of the way he came.

“Hope I’m not late,” Matthew says, trying to make conversation as they corner the house. “Don’t know Roarton very well and got a bit lo…”

He trails off immediately after they enter the garden through the back gate, stopping dead at the sound of Jem’s bloody curdling scream.

“HELP!”

Matthew looks on, frozen in horror as Jem yells again, this time loud enough to wake the dead.

A Rabid with pale mottled skin, large dead eyes and red blond hair, is chasing after her on the grass, narrowly missing the flowerbeds.

“Oh my God, w-what do we do?” Matthew stutters in pure panic.

Simon cocks his head and looks at him, puzzled.

“Sorry, do? About what?”

Then realisation hits him and he takes a closer look at the scene playing out in front of them.

Kieren is doing a masterful job of being a stereotypical zombie, groaning and stalking his prey practically in slow motion. God only knows who thought that up.

You have to be kidding. “Oh, that?”

Simon by nature is not a cruel man, but he cannot help himself. “Well ye could try saving her I s’pose, but to be honest, she looks done for to me.”

All colour has drained from Matthew’s face now and slowly, Simon starts to laugh, stopping the zombie and damsel in distress horror movie duo in their tracks.

“Jesus, I’m kidding,” Simon explains, clapping Matthew on the back. “She’s fine, that’s Kieren. And to be honest, I’d be more likely to put money on him needing to be saved from her rather than the other way ‘round.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Kieren objects from across the lawn.

Jem runs over to Matthew in greeting, throwing her arms around him for a hug.

“Yer found it okay then? This is Simon,” she nods in Simon’s direction.

“Yeah, we just met,” he mumbles, somewhat embarrassed.

“And this is my big brother, Kieren. He’s a total loser, but he’ll do.”

“Thanks Jem! Don’t listen to her. It’s nice to finally meet yer Matt. Jem hasn’t stopped going on about yer,” he says, coming over too, to shake his hand.

“Kieren! Yer can be such a dick sometimes,” Jem chides, looking mortified. “Ignore him. Anyway, this is me dad, Steve. Me mum Sue, is in the kitchen at the minute doing her potato salad. You’ve gotta try it, it’s fab.”

Well, normal family BBQ it is then.

“Matthew,” Steve says, abandoning the cooking for a moment to say hello. “Hope these two didn’t give yer a fright there?”

Matthew lies unconvincingly. “No, ‘course not.”

“What’s your surname, Lonsdale? Sylvia down t'road any relation to yer?”

Matthew shakes his head. “No, don’t think so. But then, Lonsdale’s quite a common name,” he shrugs. “There's two others at the college I go to; no relation to them, neither.”

“Ah, well in that case, suppose it must be,” Steve agrees, accompanied by a usual cheery smile. “Not many Walkers around these parts though. Anyway, Matthew, yer want a beer? Be nice to have another man about the place I can have a drink with.”

“You two don’t drink?” Matthew asks, looking to Kieren, then Simon and back to Kieren again.

“We can’t, not lager anyway,” Kieren explains, while Matthew looks part way between surprised and horrified again. “Bitter either. Or most liquids, actually, come to that.”

In fact, Matthew has not stopped looking shocked since he arrived, so Kieren tries to reassure him using the ‘training’ he has received on the Give Back Scheme.

“Don’t worry, we’re fully compliant PDS Sufferers and have been administered Neurotriptyline within the last twenty four hours, so will not enter a rabid state any time soon.”

“That’s good,” Matthew laughs awkwardly. “I’ve read some stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon enquires, going into teacher mode. “Well don’t go believing everything ye read or hear. We’re just the same as the living in most things.”

Kieren gives him a remonstrative look.

“Only our eyes are prettier,” Simon adds quickly with a smile, which seems to do the trick. Matthew even finally appears to relax enough to smile back.

Kieren smiles too. This should be an interesting afternoon.

 

“Everyone, tuck in,’ Sue says, sitting down at the table in the garden after lunch has been served. Steve has poured cold water over the burning embers of the BBQ, making them hiss and waft great blooms of grey smoke everywhere.

“It’s turned out nice today,” Steve says, sitting down too to join his family, as all but Kieren and Simon start to help themselves to the food, piling their plates high. “Nice to have a bit of sunshine for a change.”

Everyone agrees in unison.

There are bowls of salads and coleslaw amongst plates of rolls and BBQ meat, crammed onto every last corner of the weathered garden table. Jem is spooning out some of Sue’s potato salad onto Matthew’s plate when he notices both Kieren and Simon are sitting in front of empty table settings.

“Don’t you two eat either?”

Simon glances at Steve - who has a chicken drumstick frozen half way to his mouth in anticipation of Jem’s graphic answer - and automatically jumps in to steer the conversation away from any “puking their guts up” comments or similar descriptions of what exactly does happen to a PDS Sufferer who consumes ‘living’ food.

“We can, but it’s best we don’t,” he tactfully explains.

“Oh, right,’ Matthew says after a moment. “Feels dead wrong though, us all eating, while you two just sit there. What happens if yer eat something?”

Simon clears his throat. This could be awkward. “Er, well…”

“Yer ever had food poisoning, Matt?” Kieren interjects, rescuing Simon.

Matthew nods cautiously. He has a horrible feeling he might regret his question.

“Solids are toxic to us. So it’s kinda the same as food poisoning if we eat anything.” Kieren leaves out the “except for brains” part, which he figures would really freak the poor kid out.

Steve attempts to change the subject. “These sausages are really juicy. I said Sue, didn’t I? I said, yer pop down Hargrave’s Butchers and get some proper no-nonsense British pork sausages. None of this messed about with imported rubbish yer get down t'supermarket.”

“Yer did, Steve,” Sue agrees complacently, “And very nice they are. Makes a change for me not to have to do the cooking too.”

There’s silence for a moment while they eat. Brown sauce and salad dressing is passed around the table.

“In fact, when I was in Hargrave’s this morning, I bumped into Nita,” Sue continues, tightening the lid on one of the bottles before trying to find a space to place it back on the table. “She said there’s something going on up at Lambert Farm.”

Steve stops chewing. “Didn’t know the farm’s been sold. Thought it was still in probate after what happened up there after The Rising.”

Jem keeps her eyes down, fixed on her plate. She does not want to think about what happened at Lambert Farm on her very first mission, and especially what she did there.

Steve carries on, obliviously. “That’s what Duncan said, and he should know, he’s on the Parish Council.”

Kieren thinks back to the previous evening.

“Don’t think it’s up for sale, dad. Simon and I saw a load of caravans on Lambert land on the way home from work last night.”

“Pikeys? Bollocks, really?” Jem groans. The one thing the Parish Council will consider even worse than Rabids being up there. Guess the RPS will be getting their orders any time soon.

“Bloody hell, Jemima, language!” Steve scolds.

Jem gives him a ‘what?!!' look in return.

“I think they prefer the term 'Travellers', love,” Sue points out.

“Well I didn’t say _Gypos_ , did I?!” Jem protests, as both Steve and Sue continue to look appalled.

Yet another change of subject, Kieren thinks.

“So, the new vicar came in to The Legion last night. Have any of yer met him yet?”

Steve nods. “Been to a few or his services. Very different from Vicar Oddie, isn’t he Sue?”

Sue agrees, so Kieren carries on making idle conversation. It is either the new vicar or back to the weather.

“Did yer know he was a doctor as well as a vicar? Introduced himself as Dr. David Sinclair.”

“Well, can’t harm to have another doctor about the place. Not that Tom’s not a good GP. He worked wonders when I did my back in.”

“He’s not that kind of a doctor,” Simon corrects. “He’s a Doctor of Philosophy in Molecular Biology.”

“How do yer know that?” Kieren asks, surprised. He did not leave them alone for very long last night, and certainly not long enough to get the full rundown of his qualifications, anyway.

“There was an article about him in the Roarton Gazette.”

So Simon knew more about him than he let on. Typical.

“What’s a Molecular Biologist do when they’re at home, then?” Jem asks, trying to pierce a plum tomato, but only succeeding to chase it around her plate with a fork. Sue really needs to have words with her about her table manners.

“Molecular Biology is the study of molecular processes that underpin cell function and replication. It kinda goes hand in hand with Genetics and Biochemistry.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” Sue says, looking impressed by Simon’s scientific knowledge - along with everyone else at the table. Kieren included.

“Not just a pretty face, ay Kier?” Jem winks at her brother.

“Well, he only wants me for me brains,” Simon remarks, remaining straight faced as Kieren tries to do likewise.

Steve’s eyes open minutely wider at the comment, before frowning at the double meaning. Not sure if he should be more concerned about the ‘wanting’ or the ‘brains’ part, he plasters a smile on his face instead.

“Sounds all very complicated,” he finally says, while really thinking that the conversation itself is getting a little too complicated for his liking. “What’s for pudding, love?”

“Sherry trifle,” Sue tells him for at least the third time.

“Oh, love a bit of trifle, me,” Steve beams, “Do yer like trifle, Matt?”

Matthew chews quickly and swallows his mouthful of potato salad. “Yeah, sure.”

Probably best to stick to subjects like the weather for the remainder of the meal. It might make for duller conversation, but it is a lot less controversial. Matthew is finding out rapidly that navigating around the trials and pitfalls of a Walker family meal is always a dangerous business - living or undead.

 

\---

 

Despite arriving at The Legion early, several people are already here for Jem’s birthday do. The sunshine from earlier in the day has been short lived and the sky has returned to its usual grey overcast state, ready to start raining again at any second. Guests were obviously turning up in advance of the impending downpour.

The DJ is setting up his decks on the raised stage area at the far end of the pub, plugging in the multi-coloured strobe lights, while some of Jem’s school mates are gathered around the pool table, tossing a coin to see who will break first. Philip, Shirley and her new beau Tom Russo, the local GP, are already at the bar ordering drinks, while Frankie Kirby and a thankfully non-rabid Rob from Jem’s class at school, are also in and making an early start on the HiGlow. They may be frozen in time as sixteen year olds, but their birth dates make it legal to buy (living or PDS) alcohol at the bar.

“I’ll get the first round in,” Steve says to Kieren, Jem and Matt, reaching inside his jacket pocket for his wallet.

Simon had offered to help Sue bring the surprise birthday cake, so they were arriving a bit later in order to give her time to add the finishing touches.

They all make themselves comfortable on one of the middle tables, the best one in the pub, as people begin to drift over to wish Jem a happy birthday and bestow cards and gifts on her, which she accepts cheerily.

Steve returns after a few minutes, carrying a tray of drinks and sets it down on the table.

“Pint of cider for you Jem, pint of bitter for meself and Matt, and I got you a bottle of that HiGlow stuff, Kieren,” he says placing each glass on a bar mat in front of them.

Kieren looks at the bright green bottled liquid dubiously. “Thanks, dad,” he says to be polite.

“Have yer tried it yet? That Frankie said it was worth a go.”

Kieren shakes his head, picking it up reluctantly.

“To Jem,” Steve says, raising his glass as everyone does likewise. “Happy birthday to me little girl. Well, not so little anymore, ay? Outta the dreaded teenage years and in yer twenties.”

Jem pulls a face. “Can’t I be twenteen?”

“Can’t stop the aging process, I’m afraid,” Steve laughs.

“Unless you’re me, of course. PDS _is_ the new Botox,” Kieren points out to his dad’s chargrin.

They all clink their glasses and each takes a gulp of their drinks - some larger than others.

“So, what d’ya think?” Jem asks Kieren after he sets his bottle back down. Matthew just looks relieved that he is drinking with them at all, regardless of how much he is enjoying it.

“It’s alright, actually,” Kieren nods.

Matthew cannot help but be intrigued by this supernatural glowing beverage. “What does it taste like?”

Kieren shrugs. “Dunno really. A bit like a regular alcopop I s’pose. Sort of sweet, but with a kick.”

It felt surprisingly normal to be drinking it, despite the alarming colour, and the fact he had not drunk anything in five years. It felt good to be doing something normal and being able to join in with the rest of his family.

“Sounds good,” Jem smiles. “Better drink up then bro, your turn to get the drinks in next.”

More people are arriving now and Jem and Matthew have disappeared off to greet some of their mates.

“Same again, dad?” Kieren asks after both their drinks are empty.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Steve says, and it occurs to Kieren that he does not mind if he does either, which comes a surprise.

 

It was a good couple of hours by the time Sue and Simon arrive at The Legion, by which time it is packed to the brim. The bright strobe lighting can be seen flashing red, green and purple through the windows and the music can be heard blaring out half way down the street.

As they enter through the main door, they have to squeeze through the crowd to even get to the bar.

“I’m going to find Pearl about the cake,” Sue shouts to Simon over the music, gesturing to the large box in her hands.

Simon nods as Sue leaves him to see Pearl about setting up the cake out of the way. She did not want it getting knocked over after all the work she has put into it, especially having noticed the already semi demolished finger buffet she organised.

Simon looks around trying to locate Kieren.

“Simon, h-h-h-heeey! I missed youuu,” Kieren calls out, waving his arms about in the air, as soon as he catches sight of him.

The DJ has been asking for requests all night and Kieren is dancing – well doing something energetic anyway – to the music with his sister, Matthew and some other people Simon does not recognise.

Simon raises his eyebrows. “Letting ye hair down, I see,” he says, coming over to them, and gesturing towards the bottle of that green PDS stuff in Kieren’s hand.

“Oh my God, yer haaave to try this HiGlow, it’s a-a-a-amaaazing!” Kieren slurs, beaming from ear to ear.

“So it would seem. How many have ye had?”

“Dunnnno, lost count.”

“That’s his fourth,” Jem shouts back, “He’s such a lighweight.”

“Am not!” Kieren protests.

“Yer SO are!” she insists, still bobbing up and down to the heavy thumping of the base.

“Ye guys want another?” Simon asks.

“Pint of cider, please, Si,” Jem asks, “Matt’ll have a bitter and another radioactive alcopop for this loser.”

“Get one for yerself too,” Kieren encourages.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Simon says, pushing through the crowd to the bar.

He passes Gary and Raymond on the way, who are nursing their pints and eying up most of Jem’s female mates from school. Dean and Keith are next to them playing ‘Altered Beast’ on the old arcade machine.

When Simon comes back with the drinks, minus one for himself, he notices Gary has gone and Raymond is trying to chat up a girl who is wearing far too much make-up – and who, not to mention, looks far too young for him.

He hands over the drinks as the last song ends and the DJ picks up the microphone.

“We have another request,” the DJ announces. “This one’s for ‘Loverboy’, because apparently, “you’re dead romantic.” So whoever you are, this one’s for you.”

The creaking of an opening door sounds over the speakers, followed by footsteps and a wolf howling, before Michael Jackson starts to sing.

_It's close to midnight,_

_Something evil's lurking in the dark,_

_Under the moonlight,_

_You see a sight that almost stops your heart._

Steve who has joined Kieren, Jem and Matthew in time for Simon to get him a drink, looks to the DJ and frowns. “Who asked for this?”

Kieren looks around for Gary and clocks him by the DJ. He is not surprised to find him staring right back at him. Shaking his head, he receives a wink in return.

“Twwwo guesses,” Kieren sighs.

“Don’t think it’s very appropriate, considering,” Steve grumbles.

Everyone tries to ignore the song, until Gary begins to sing along loudly to the lyrics.

_“Creatures crawl in search of blood,_

_To terrorize y'all's neighbourhood.”_

“I’ll have a word,” Simon says, already making his way over to Gary who has now been joined by the rest of the dickhead brigade.

 _“The foulest stench's in the air…_ We bloody know that. Too right, mate,” Gary says loud enough for the whole pub to hear even over the music.

As Simon approaches, Gary tries to give him the cold shoulder, but Simon is not that easily deterred.

“Your request, I take it?”

“Yeah, I’m dead funny, me,” Gary chuckles back.

“Side splitting. So ye wanna keep it down?” Simon asks reasonably.

Gary ignores him, continuing to sing even louder now.

_“And grizzly ghouls from every tomb,_

_Are closing in to seal your doom.”_

Simon steps closer. Dean is looking less than happy about the situation and edges aside, making more room for Simon. Raymond and Keith try to stand their ground, but are looking more wary as the seconds tick past.

Simon is unmoved; it will take a lot more than singing lyrics from a pop song from the eighties to provoke him, but a little intimidation never hurt anyone.

“Or would ye prefer me to make ye?”

Gary glares back at him.

“Fock off, deadhead. I’m not taking shit off a deadon like yer. Yer should be locked up!” he says, before downing the rest of his pint. “Or better still, six foot under, not walking around Roarton like yer have right to be here like the rest of us. Your kind’s got no focking right and as soon as parish council grow some balls and authorise some pest control, yer better watch your back, Rotter, because I’ll be putting a bullet in it.”

“Come on Gaz, leave it, yeah?” Dean pleads, trying to pull him away and diffuse the situation. This will not end well otherwise. He has seen Gary come a cropper with Simon before and he does not want to get caught in the crossfire, but with the amount of pints Gary has sunk tonight, he clearly is not thinking straight.

Steve has been watching the exchange with concern. He does not like confrontation, but decides to take charge of the situation and goes over before anything kicks off.

“Y’all right Gary. What’s going on here then? Simon?”

“Ayup Steve. Good do this,” Dean says, trying to act cool as if nothing is going on and they are just all mates having a laugh. “Gary just wanted to wish Jem a happy birthday, didn’t yer, Gaz?”

Dean bumps him with his arm to agree, but Gary remains silent.

“Before he leaves,” Simon adds, his face stone.

“Is that right, Gary?” Steve asks, unconvinced, “Because I wouldn’t want any trouble. Not tonight, being Jem’s birthday and all.”

Gary looks to Simon and considers his options. If he had not had that last pint, he is sure he could take him.

“Yeah, that’s right Steve. Me and Simon here were just catching up, but maybe another time then. Ay, mate?”

He puts his empty pint glass on a near by table and stands directly in front of Simon, getting right in his face, nose to nose, before pushing past him towards the door. They all watch him go.

Steve signs with relief, “Got me worried there, almost put me off me piece of cake. Yer had any yet? One thing I can say about our Sue, she can sure make a good bit of sponge.”

“I’m sure it’s delicious, Steve. Anyway, it’s fine, no need to worry,” Simon smiles reassuring at him.

The song ends and the entire pub suddenly is silent. No new song starts to play and no one says a word.

Apart from Gary.

“Invited your other rotten mates along, did yer?” he shouts back at Simon.

Coming through the door is what looks like a group of PDS. Kieren strains to see who they are. He does not recognise them and neither does anyone else. They are certainly not locals.

Gary goes to make a move, “Well, we’ll see about th…” But Simon has him already, buckling back his right arm, forcing him through the door and throwing him onto the wet road outside.

The air is cold, but you cannot see Simon's breath as he speaks quietly, his voice completely calm and steady.

“I warned ye,” he says, crouching down to Gary’s level. “Ye see Gary, they say the very definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Have ye not learnt yet?”

Gary spits out a mouthful of blood from where he has landed face first on the tarmac and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red liquid across it. “This isn’t over yer focking Irish Grotter! Yer just keep watching yer back.”

Kieren has made it outside along with Jem and Dean and a couple of others who had braved it out and are contemplating whether or not to call the police. Raymond and Keith are nowhere to be seen, having sensibly decided that they would sit this one out.

“Will do,” Simon says turning his back on Gary, who is still sprawled on the ground, to usher everyone back inside the pub. Nothing to see, not anymore.

After everyone has filed back in, Kieren remains outside, just looking at Simon. He hates violence, but is proud of Simon for dealing with the situation with as little fuss as possible.

“Yer were great,” he smiles just a little chuffed, “You’d think Gary would have learned his lesson by now?”

Simon shrugs and Kieren cannot help himself. He takes Simon’s face is his hand and kisses him hard with slightly intoxicated passion. Neither of them notices Steve watching on from the open door of The Legion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been really encouraged by all the positive feedback people have left in the comments on the previous two chapters. Thank you for all your support – there’s still much more planned for this story.
> 
> I’ve been reading a few interviews with the creator Dominic Mitchell recently and a very interesting article on freethoughtblogs.com about In The Flesh being the best LGBT series since Russell T. Davis’ Queer As Folk. Kieren makes a comment to Amy in Series 1, Episode 2, about playing along with his parents by acting as if he does not have PDS, because he didn’t want to upset them. Although PDS is obviously a metaphor in the series and he finally comes out as undead and proud in Series 2, after reading the Free Thought Blog, I felt it was important not to let Kieren’s sexuality continue to be treated as a no-go area for his family. Simon is an influential catalyst for Kieren to have the confidence to be who he really is and so it I thought it was fitting he should encourage him in this area as well.
> 
> You may have noticed I have included the detail of the CCTV cameras not working over the weekend in the GP's, when Zoe and Brian break in to free the rabids. This was not mentioned in the series, but as there was a large 'CCTV in operation' poster at the reception desk, it made no sense whatsoever why the Parish Council would accuse Kieren and Simon for the act, when they should have had CCTV evidence of Zoe and Brian. Therefore, I concluded it must have not been working that Sunday!!
> 
> The set design in the series is so well done, I thought I would take advantage of it to get some ideas as to what Jem might like for her birthday. She has lots of different types of skulls scattered around her room, so another seemed be a fitting gift for her brother (and Simon) to get her.
> 
> On another note, I’m a big Star Trek fan, so for those of you who share my interest, I’ve put a little clue in this chapter of what’s to come for one of the characters.
> 
> If The Rising and subsequent war were real, the idea of Kieren and Jem playing 'Hollywood zombie and victim' would be in rather bad taste, however other than the fact visually I imagined it to be very funny - which is always an important element of In The Flesh to break up the heavy topics and intense scenes – their ability to do this I felt demonstrated the development of all three characters involved. It allows Simon to experience and integrate completely into the Walker family unit, Kieren is relaxed enough with his PDS state now to understand he is not a monster, while Jem finally has the opportunity to act her age and mess around. So although it's dubious as to whether this would be appropriate in their eyes, I felt the rationale was strong enough to keep the scene in.
> 
> Finally, the timeline for In The Flesh has been pretty well thought out by the creators, but I decided to make a small change. In the third episode of the first series, which takes place in December, Jem mentions to Kieren that her birthday is in three weeks. I decided to make those three weeks, three months for the purpose of this story – well, she was drinking cider at the time, so maybe she said weeks instead of months by mistake?!


	4. No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Kieren is surprised to find the old parish church full when Simon and he arrive at St. Jude’s for Vicar Sinclair’s Sunday service. The interior is quite different from how he remembers it; everything seems newer somehow. The last time he was there was for Henry Lonsdale’s funeral five years before and he thinks back to Jem reading out a poem during the service.

Scrap that. That is not strictly true.

The very last time he was there, in actual fact, he was in no position to observe the décor – he was in his coffin for his own funeral service.

The new vicar had done a lot for the church in the few months he had been in Roarton. Vicar Oddie had held his services after The Rising at a barn converted into a makeshift church as the original parish building and surrounding cemetery had been cordoned of by the police - the entrance gates locked shut with signs marked, ‘DANGER - QUARANTINED AREA - DO NOT ENTER’.

The boarded up broken stain glass windows - depicting Christ on the cross, the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene and John the disciple whom Jesus loved looking on, and four Roman soldiers casting lots for His garments below - had been uncovered and repaired, now casting light in every colour on the solid stone floor from the morning rays. The large crucifix erected proudly behind the altar, had been repainted, and even the old church organ he noticed was clean and restored.

“Kieren, Simon, over here,” Sue waves.

She is sitting next to Steve in one of the front pews. Shirley and Philip Wilson are sat in the row in front of them and Pearl Pinder, Duncan and Patty Lancaster are in the rows opposite. Now he looks around, he sees that most of the village are in attendance - those who are living anyway. Even Dean Holton nods a “morning” as Kieren and Simon make their way to join his parents.

“Weren’t expecting you here,” Sue says as they both sit down. Steve glances at Kieren and then Simon, but quickly looks away remaining silent.

“Simon wanted to come,” Kieren tells her in hushed tones appropriate for their surroundings.

“Didn’t know yer were religious, Simon?” Sue presses, making casual conversation.

“Depends,” Simon replies. Sue raises her eyebrows - that was not exactly a proper answer, so he continues to explain, “On what they’re selling and what the rule book says, I s’pose.”

“Yeah, everlasting life is _so_ five years ago for us,” Kieren quips.

Steve moves as if to make a comment, but keeps his mouth shut and continues to look straight ahead.

Kieren cannot help but notice that he is acting oddly.

“Yer alright, dad?”

Steve nods and then looks at Simon. “Thought yer being a Catholic and all, they had some pretty strict rules about certain stuff?”

Simon smiles a lopsides grin. “That’s about right. Basically if ye enjoy something and it’s pleasurable, it’s pretty much guaranteed to be a sin.”

“Well, folk shouldn’t always act upon their impulses, otherwise we’d be no better than animals,” Steve replies, returning his gaze ahead of him again.

Keiren shoots his mother a look as if to ask ‘what’s going on?’ but Sue only shrugs and turns her attention to the front as the organ begins to sound and everyone rises from their seats.

 

Picking up the well-thumbed red cloth covered standard hymn book in front of him, Kieren turns to the number listed on the old oak hymn board at the front of the church. He sees that the first hymn is ‘Jerusalem (And did those feet in ancient time)’. It is based on the poem by William Blake, which he knows well having studied Milton for English Literature at school. He had even written an essay on it - how the poem was inspired by the apocryphal story of Jesus during His unknown years, where it is said He travelled to England and links back to the ‘Book of Revelation’, which described a Second Coming wherein Jesus establishes a new Jerusalem.

The first line starts and everyone begins to sing feebly.

_“And did those feet in ancient time,_

_Walk upon England's mountain green?_

_And was the holy Lamb of God,_

_On England's pleasant pastures seen?"_

Except for Simon, who as it turns out has quite a good singing voice. Kieren cannot help but raise an eyebrow and give him a broad grin at the sound. Simon simply frowns back and carries on singing next to Kieren’s mumbles.

_“And did the countenance divine,_

_Shine forth upon our clouded hills?_

_And was Jerusalem builded here,_

_Among those dark satanic mills?”_

As far as hymns go, it was a nice enough Kieren supposes, but a complete fantasy, of course. The new vicar is singing at the top of his lungs though, trying to inject a little enthusiasm into his congregation.

Once the hymn ends, everyone sits and Vicar Sinclair bids them all a warm welcome, followed by a short prayer. Simon bows his head in a well practiced manner and Kieren’s thoughts begin to wander, wondering how Jem is feeling after the night before and whether or not Matt has remained in his old room or has snuck into hers while the house is empty.

His attention is only roused when Philip gets up and stands in front of the eagle-shaped golden lectern in front of the pews, opening the large bible at a pre-marked page.

“Corinthians, Chapter 15, verses 35 to 44,” Philip begins, pausing briefly to clear his throat, before continuing.

“But someone will ask, “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?”

“How foolish!

“What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body. Not all flesh is the same: People have one kind of flesh, animals have another, birds another and fish another.

“There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; but the splendour of the heavenly bodies is one kind, and the splendour of the earthly bodies is another. The sun has one kind of splendour, the moon another and the stars another; and star differs from star in splendour.

“So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.

“And so endeth the lesson. Thanks be to God,” Philip finishes.

The congregation are silent.

The only noise that can be heard is the creaking of the old wooden pews as people shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Philip moves to rejoin Shirley in the front row. She pats his hand gently in support as he sits down next to her.

“Well done, Philip,” she whispers, “I’m proud of yer.”

Kieren wonders idly who chose the passage? It would not be a surprising choice coming from Philip, but he has the strange feeling that Vicar Sinclair had picked it specifically - especially after inviting Simon and himself to church in the hope they may decide to attend this very service.

It is time for the sermon of the day and the new vicar looks eager to get started.

“Thank you, Philip,” Vicar Sinclair says, taking centre stage in front of the church alter to address his parishioners.

“The Resurrection,” he states in a clear, strong voice that echoes amongst the rafters. He pauses for a moment, long enough for the words to hang in the air a little longer. Obviously, this vicar has quite a taste for the theatrical.

“With Easter approaching it is not only the most important date of the Christian calendar; it is the most important event in the Christian faith.

“But why is it so important to us? When there are so many miracles that could have become the cornerstone of our faith, why The Resurrection in particular?

“Tell me, any of you? How did twelve men - twelve peasant fishermen and tax collectors, farmers even - how on earth did they multiply? Growing from the sum of twelve followers of Jesus to one out of every three people on the planet identifying as Christian?

“The answer? I’ll tell you. It’s very simple.

“The Resurrection!

“No other event in history has impacted the world as much as The Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The Resurrection changed everything.

“What year is it? 2014. That’s 2014 ‘A.D’. It even determines our calendar. Anno Domini - After Death.

“And what is the reason behind why Christianity spread as it did? Why? Because it's really good news! It's not bad news. It's really good news. In actual fact, it's great news! It’s not something to be feared or shunned, it’s something to be rejoiced and revered.

“Can you imagine the thoughts than ran through the disciples’ minds when they first discovered the stone had been rolled away from Jesus’ tomb? That Jesus’ body had been raised and he was once again walking amongst the living? They did not run in fear, they fell to their knees and praised God for such a gift!

“Do you know where the word 'gospel' comes from? When people talk about sharing the gospel? It comes from the old English word that means 'good news.'

“Christianity, the message of Jesus, the life, death and Resurrection of Jesus, is good news when you understand it.

“It’s good, it’s not evil, and blessed are those amongst men who this is revealed to.

“Jesus defeated death so we don't have to fear it. He loves us all unconditionally; we all have God's spirit inside us as He has a greater purpose for all our lives.”

Kieren looks to Simon who is listening intently, and then looked around at his neighbour’s faces. Some wear expressions of shock, some of anger and even fear, but others he notices are nodding in agreement, absorbing the vicar’s positive words of hope and understanding like sponges.

He turns his attention back to the front of the church as Vicar Sinclair continues on with his animated sermon.

“But you don’t have to take my word for it, let me give Jesus an opportunity to speak. For he once said to his disciples - and I believe if He were standing here now, instead of me before you - He would say to all of you today,

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.

“So what are we all doing here if we do not trust in what he teaches us? What are we doing with our lives, our beliefs, in the way we think and behave, dare to call ourselves Christian in His name, if we do not follow in his teachings?

“Truly believe and be faithful to God, for he will bestow his gifts on the worthy.

“And so, as it is written in Corinthians:

“For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

Kieren feels a strong and unaccustomed desire to clap as Vicar Sinclair speaks his last lines. It was not the done thing of course at church, but he could not remember hearing anyone speak so passionately, or with such conviction, on such a subject before – not from a positive point of view anyway.

As the vicar says, “Let us pray,” he is shocked to find himself bowing his head in sincerity.

“God our Father,” Vicar Sinclair begins, “Whose power brings us to birth; whose providence guides our lives; and only by Your command we return to dust.

“Lord, those who die still live in Your presence, their lives change but do not end.

“We pray in hope for our family, relatives and friends, and for all the dead known to You alone. And for those, who like Christ, once died and yet now live, may they rejoice in Your kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.

“Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever. Amen.”

 

After a spritely hymn rendition of ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country', they next shared in the Holy Communion, which of course being PDS neither Simon or Kieren can participate in - although consuming one small white wafer and a sip of red wine was unlikely to make them sick – but Vicar Sinclair still lays his hands on them to give them a blessing instead.

After another couple of prayers and some local announcements, the service finally comes to an end.

Abigail Lamb begins to serve Tea, coffee and biscuits on a small table with blue faded china cups and saucers and two small urns on a table at the back of the church. Steve, Sue and Kieren make their way over to join some of the others who are staying behind, while Simon goes to speak to Vicar Sinclair.

“Well that was… different,” Kieren says, still keeping his voice low amongst the mumbled chatter of the other attendees, and still a little shocked. The vicar obviously had not been kidding when he said all were welcome at his church and clearly was making a real effort to prove his point.

“He’s certainly different,” Shirley replies, overhearing him and coming over with Philip to join them. “Like a breath of fresh air after Vicar Oddie, God rest his soul. Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead I s’pose, especially not while still at church,” she laughs and pulls a face in mock regret.

Kieren sees that Philip is shifting uncomfortably on his feet as usual behind her. “Yer did a good job, Phil.”

Philip raises his eyes and smiles warmly, somewhat surprised. “Thanks. Vicar Sinclair chose it.”

Ah, well that answers that question.

“No Tom this morning?” Sue asks Shirley who instantly looks a little apologetic.

“Not really his thing, although he’s coming over for Sunday lunch later.”

“We’re doing the same,” Sue tells her and then to Kieren, “Are you and Simon joining us, love?”

Kieren shrugs. “Yeah, fine. Not sure about Simon though, I’ll have to ask.”

He looks over at Simon, who is still in a deep discussion with the vicar, a little out of the way of everyone else at the back of the pews. He cannot hear what they are talking about, but they both look very serious and Simon seems to be doing a lot of nodding in agreement with whatever Vicar Sinclair is telling him. Kieren decides not to go over and join in the conversation. He will ask Simon about lunch when they are ready to leave. Whatever they are talking about, he has a strong suspicion, he would be best off not knowing.

 

\---

 

Jem and Matthew are coming down the stairs as Kieren arrives at his family’s house later. They’re giggling and messing around and he is warmed to see his sister smiling and being so happy for a change. Matthew is obviously good for her.

“Finally left yer pit then?” Steve says, coming out from the kitchen to see what all the ruckus is about. “Wanna brew? I’ve just put the kettle on.”

“Nah, ye’right, dad. We’re just on out,” Jem grins back, slapping Matthew’s wrist as he attempts to sneak a hand around her waist.

Steve looks unimpressed at them both. “What about lunch? Thought this was meant to be family time?”

“Thought we had that yesterday? Anyway, me and Matt are off down the pub.”

Kieren raises his eyebrows, obviously they had not had their fill last night. “Hair of the dog, ay?”

“Something like that,” Jem replies mysteriously.

“Jem, we could always come back for a bit later?” Matthew suggests helpfully, trying to placate Steve. Staying on the right side of his girlfriend’s father seems to be a good idea.

Jem has other ideas though and is already shrugging on her jacket.

“Piss off! I’ll be battered in an hour!”

Matthew looks sheepishly at Steve and then Kieren.

“Maybe another time then, ay? Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“Heard that one before”, Steve mutters under his breath, retreating back into the kitchen without wishing them a nice time.

Kieren watches him go and says instead what his father probably should have. You only turn twenty once in your life, after all.

Except for Kieren.

He may have been born twenty four years ago this year, but he never had a twenty-first, or will know what it is like for his body to turn thirty, or forty, or seventy. A perpetual eighteen-year-old. Some people may think that a blessing, to never have to watch yourself rot with age, to have to look in the mirror one day and not recognise yourself, but Kieren does not see it that way. Growing old he realises is a privilege and you only really appreciate that fact when the possibility of doing so is closed to you. Then again, the thinking that led him to be in this state was to not exist full stop, so he supposes he should be grateful for being partially alive at all.

“Kier?” Jem asks him, rousing him from his contemplation. “Glad I got yer by yourself before we leave.”

Kieren looks back puzzled. Wherever this is going, does not sound good.

“You and Si last night…” She begins, not entirely sure how to raise this subject.

This definitely sounds ominous. “Yes?”

“Well, dad saw yer. The two of you, I mean.”

Kieren continues to look confused. “The two of us, what?”

To be fair, the HiGlow might have been less than conducive to memory recall and some of the previous night’s events are a little bit hazy with or without a hangover the next morning. He does not remember anything out of the ordinary though. Jem was trollied, Gary was acting like a twat, so all pretty much a usual Saturday night down The Legion really.

Well, apart from those PDS strangers turning up. He had still no idea who they were. Perhaps from the camp site he and Simon had spotted on Friday?

Jem rolls her eyes at him while Matthew looks slightly awkward – which Kieren is beginning to wonder is his default state.

“What, Jem? Dad saw the two of us…”

“Kissing, Kier! He saw the two of yer kissing after Si threw Gaz out,” she clarifies.

“No, we never, we…” but then he remembers.

Oh.

Shit!

Jem shrugs apologetically. “Just thought you’d want the heads up, like.”

Kieren nods, feeling slightly sick as they both file past him on their way out. Taking a deep breath, he heads for the kitchen.

Simon did say he should tell his dad about them so he guesses it is for the best, all things considered, but it does not make the conversation he knows he will have to have any easier though.

 

\---

 

The sodden grass from the heavy rainfall the night before squelches under Simon’s feet as he leaves the roadside and heads for the turnstile in the fence that marks the boundary of the Lambert Farm land. He does not have far to walk as the camp site is only in the field beyond, but it is a journey he would rather not be making.

He had not told Kieren of his plans, simply stating he “had stuff to do” when asked if he was joining the Walkers for their Sunday family meal. Kieren had assumed, as he expected him to, that Simon needed a little time out after such a family intense weekend and so had not pressed the matter further. It was not that he was intentionally keeping the visit from Kieren, he just did not see any cause to worry him until he knew for certain there was something to worry about.

The fact was though; Simon had been expecting this – well, expecting something – and had been waiting for whatever it turned out to be for some months now.

It had not just been his own back he had been watching all this time, but Kieren’s too. He had been wrong when he told Julian and the Undead Prophet that Kieren was The First Risen - it was really Amy Dyer all along. But despite her killing, The Second Rising had not occurred, and thus the ULA was still fixed on the idea that it must all hinge upon Kieren. It would have been embarrassing for them, to say the least, if they were forced to admit they had had the actual First Risen at their commune for the better part of a year and not even realised it. So Kieren was still potentially a target for them and their insane beliefs - which Simon now knew them to be.

 

As he draws closer, he can see the sheer size of the encampment. There are far more caravans and tents than he originally suspected from the brief glimpse he and Kieren had on Friday night in the dark. He can see a few people milling around, some rebuilding a fire in the middle of the site - presumably to be lit later on when the light was drawing in and the temperature dropped - but he is surprised to see a group of children, a few on bikes and another couple playing with two Staffordshire Bull Terriers.

One of the boys throws a stick for the dogs in Simon’s direction and the two mutts come bounding over to him, wagging their tails and jumping up to be petted as he approaches.

“Hey pooches,” Simon says, crouching down to ruffle both dog’s heads. “Where’s your masters?”

“Oi! Mate?” One of the older boys shouts out in an accent that sounds like an Anglo-Irish mix, and is quite frankly, every bit as rough as the kids look. “W’dya want?”

Even from the distance of thirty feet, Simon can see they are living and not partially deceased as he expected.

Another joins the first boy. Safety in numbers Simon thinks. “Who ye looking for?”

The only thing that Simon can think to say is, ‘Take me to you leader’, but dismisses the idea immediately. He has clearly been to too many of Steve’s movie marathon nights. Luckily he does not have to come up with an alternative, as a man, tall, wiry and unshaven, appears from behind the nearest caravan and shouts at both boys.

“Jimbo, Mickey!” His accent matches the children’s, but Simon sees his pinprick eyes and white mottled skin. So not all living then. “Go help ye ma, she’s been asking after yez.”

“Shite, but Liam’s helping,” Jimbo shouts back, while Mickey kicks the ground petulantly. “Liam's such a focking muppet!”

“Well, she obviously tinks she needs ye twos an'all! And don’t gimme any focking cheek, ye hear?”

Both boys scarper and the undead traveller fixes his eyes on Simon. “Can I help ye?”

“Maybe,” Simon replies, moving closer until they are barely six feet apart. “I was told to wait for something. Wondered if that something was you?” He gestures to the camp site in front of them.

The stranger looks Simon up and down, sizing him up and then slowly grins.

“Ah, that means ye must be Simon. Julian told us to look out for a fella like ye.”

Simon’s heart sinks. He was right then.

He had hoped that it was just an empty threat and nothing would ever appear that he knew he would have to deal with. The ULA clearly were not going to give up on him as easily as he had prayed they would.

“Is he here?” Simon asks simply.

The other man nods. “The name’s Joseph, I’ll take ye to him now.”

Simon nods back and follows Joseph through the camp site.

 

Simon had not seen Julian since the day of Amy’s funeral – the day he had planned to leave Roarton with Kieren. That was until Kieren told him he could not leave. So if Kieren was staying put, Simon was not going anywhere. No way.

After the wake, Simon had arrived alone at the bungalow to find Julian sitting in an armchair in the living room, a rucksack at his feet and an instrument case containing a collection of surgical weapons on the coffee table in front of him. Julian had been waiting for him; awaiting the arrival of his Judas; Simon the twelfth disciple.

Simon had not really been surprised the ULA had sent someone after him, although he was surprised Julian had come himself. Obviously, Julian was taking it personally.

“Alright?” Simon asked his uninvited and unwanted guest. His voice he kept to a bare minimum, prepared at any moment for things to get ugly.

“Suffer not yourselves to betrayed with a kiss,” Julian quoted, calm and choosing his words with care. “As you said, The First Risen really is so much more for you then, Simon?”

“I got it wrong,” Simon growled back, “He’s not The First Risen. I was wrong.”

“So you say, but the Victus MP sacrificed who the living thought The First to be and still our brothers and sisters remain entombed in the ground.”

“It’s _not_ Kieren!” Simon reinforced again, “It _never_ was.”

Julian sniffed, clearly unmoved by Simon’s proclamation.

“I’ve been speaking to the Prophet,” he said, leaning forward and running his fingers over the instrument case, drawing attention to it for the first time since their conversation began. “Judas hanged himself from a tree for his betrayal. I wonder, will you do the same?”

Simon remained silent, slowly walking over to the sofa next to him. Julian watched him patiently, only speaking again once he was seated.

“He is willing to forgive you and offers a second chance,” he said, unwrapping the case and removing the most savage looking weapon within. “You are to wait for a sign.”

He placed the knife on the table and pushed it toward Simon.

“Do not disappoint him this time, brother. You will not be forgiven again.”

Simon looked at the blade but did not touch it. Julian meanwhile, now finished delivering the message, wrapped up the case and put it back into his rucksack.

“How should I know what the sign is?” Simon asked, looking up as Julian prepared to leave.

“You’ll know,” Julian called back, opening the front door into the freezing night air, “And remember the deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers, Simon, never sinners.”

Simon was left alone after that, staring at the weapon Julian had left behind. After some time, he picked it up and took it into his bedroom, inserting it into the empty pocket of his own instrument case, before concealing it at the very back of the wardrobe as an oubliette.

 

Simon’s thoughts run through the events of that December evening as he and Joseph pass several people in the encampment on their way to Julian. Some are partially deceased like them, while others are living. Some have that strange Anglo-Irish accent, some sound local to Lancashire or at least the surrounding counties, but others have further away accents. It is hard for Simon not to overhear them as they whisper amongst themselves, while this stranger in their camp makes his way to a large caravan at the centre of the site.

“Julian?” Joseph calls out as he knocks on the caravan door, “Someone to see ye.”

The door opens and Julian stands in the doorway, looking down at Simon.

“Brother,” he says, surprising Simon with a genuine smile and wraps both arms around him to embrace the prodigal son in greeting, “You found us.”

 

\---

 

Kieren is sat in his usual place at the dining room table, brightly painted native masks hanging on wall behind him. He waits patiently in front of an empty plate, as Sue sets down the steaming joint in pride of the place on the table, returning from the kitchen a couple of moments later with plates of various vegetables and roast potatoes, making room for the gravy boat that is still to come next.

Steve meanwhile busies himself by pouring the New World Shiraz wine, which he had picked up for “three for two down the offy. A real bargain!” Kieren put his hand over the top of his glass before Steve has the chance to pour him any.

“Yer mum’s done your favourite today, leg of lamb,” he tells Kieren and then to Sue, “Looks lovely, love. Shall I carve?”

Sue nods, finally sitting down at her own place. Always the last to get to relax.

Kieren watches him as he picks up the knife and begins to carve thin slices of the tender meat off the bone. His mood seems to have improved over the day and now does not seem any different from normal, but Kieren knows only too well that when it comes to his dad this can often be a façade.

“Jem’s do went well last night, I thought,” Sue says to them as Steve puts the first pieces of lamb on her plate, “Thanks, love.”

Kieren agrees, but his eyes never leave his father to see if he can detect any glimmer of response.

“Apart from that unpleasant business with Gary. Thank goodness for Simon, ay? Could have got a bit out of hand otherwise,” Sue continues.

“I’m sure it would have been fine. One too many bevvies and young folk think they can take on the world. Remember that feeling all too well,” Steve says, finishing the carving and sitting down to help himself to some of the roast potatoes.

“Bit of a hell raiser in yer time, where yer dad?” Kieren asks. The question was meant as a joke, but he realises no one is actually smiling.

Steve gives him a long stare. “Well, wouldn’t say that.”

“Definitely not,” Sue agrees, noticing the slight tension at the table.

Kieren keeps his comments to himself for the remainder of the meal and much of it passes in silence, except for the occasional comment about the food or how changeable the weather has been of late.

 

Even though Kieren has not eaten, he still helps his mum with the washing up afterwards. Between the two of them, they make light work of it and the plates, glasses and cutlery are clean, dried and tidied away before Steve has even decided what to watch on the telly.

“I’m off for a bath,” Sue says heading for the stares, leaving Kieren in the living room with Steve as he channel hops.

“A hundred bloody channels on this digibox and there’s still nothing to watch,” he grumbles, clicking the buttons on the remote control furiously.

“Maybe yer should invest in a satellite dish, dad?” Kieren suggests.

“Then there’d be a thousand and still bugger all on.”

Kieren releases a long breath. He realises this is probably the time to bring the subject up about him and Simon and what Steve saw the night before as they are alone, which is a rare occurrence, but he does not know how to begin.

“Yeah, er, dad? Actually, while it’s just you and me, I’ve been meaning to speak to yer.”

Steve ignores him, giving all his attention to the remote in his hand.

“Yer know, I think the batteries have gone on this already. Only replaced them last month.”

This is not going to be easy, especially with Steve doing his damnedest to avoid the conversation. Kieren does not want to have it either, but it was not going to go away, so he just had to be blunt and stop going around the houses.

So he made a start with that. “Dad, about last night. About me and Simon.”

Steve finally stops messing around with the batteries he has got out of the sideboard drawer and looks at his son apprehensively.

“It’s alright Kier, I understand.”

Really? After Steve’s behaviour this morning, Kieren was expecting anything but understanding from him.

“Yer do?”

“Yeah, course, you’re just good mates, that’s all. True, I was never quite a close with my pals back in the day as you two are, but things change. It’s all very modern now. What do they call it – metrosexual?”

Steve goes back to trying to replace the batteries. Clearly in his mind the subject was closed, but Kieren feels differently. He would be delighted to play along with his father’s denial, but he knows in his heart, that he has to do the right thing.

“Metrosexual, yeah,” Kieren answers, thrown a little that his father would even know such a term. “But that’s not what this is. That’s something different.”

“Well, I don’t need to know,” Steve says shortly.

Kieren is growing a little more agitated now. “Yeah dad, I think yer do.”

“Kieren!” Steve raises his voice in warning. He really does not want to talk about it.

“Seriously, dad, yer need to hear this.”

Steve stands up abruptly at the frustrated sound of his son’s voice.

“Well I don’t want to and yer can’t make me.” He is starting to pace now. “Always knew there was something funny between you and Rick Macy. The way yer were with each other. Never seemed to take any interest in girls, as you were always too wrapped up with him.”

He sighs, feeling a little better for getting it off his chest. His mood seems lighter now and he continues on a little more gently.

“Have yer tried courting girls? Maybe yer just haven’t met the right one yet?”

Kieren looks appalled. “I _do_ like girls, but the point is, I have met the right one - and his name is Simon!”

 

There is complete silence in the room and it seems to stretch out without end.

 

Eventually, Steve begins speaking again, but Kieren can see him shake slightly as he does so.

“I thought you and that unconventional friend of yours, Amy, might have something going on. But oh no, it had to be some lad. It just _had_ to be her boyfriend, didn’t it?”

“Simon was never Amy’s boyfriend,” Kieren protests, “but by all means, say what yer think, dad. Don’t hold anything back.”

Steve has his hands on his hips now and is glaring down at Kieren who remains seated on the sofa. He looks so small sat there and Steve tries to see the child in him he once was. The cold skin and dead eyes looking back at him is a far cry from the boy he remembers though.

“Okay then, I will,” he fumes, “You and another bloke? I think it’s disgusting! It’s not normal. The very idea of it. You and him, getting up to all sorts. It’s not natural.”

“I’m PDS,” Kieren yells back, “There’s no such thing as unnatural anymore - and besides which, of course it’s natural, it’s natural to me.”

“Well, it isn’t to me. Me and your mum were hoping for grand kids. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen with you anyway, not now with yer coming back the way yer did. But still, I just wanted a normal life for yer, Kieren. I just wanted yer to be happy.”

Happy? Really? Because happy is the last thing Kieren is right now with his father.

“Yer still have Jem. But dad, that’s the thing, I _am_ happy - _with_ Simon. Simon makes me happy and if yer can’t accept that?”

Kieren takes a deep breath to calm himself before he can continue. “Look, I know it’s going to take time…”

“Time? Yer damn right. That’s all it ever is with you, Kieren. Just because you have bags of the stuff. It’s just one thing after another and your mother and I have had it up to here,” he says, raising his hand to his eye level to demonstrate his point.

“Right, well, clearly there’s nothing more to say,” Kieren says, rising to his feet. “I told Simon you’d be like this, exactly like this. But he had faith in yer, told me I should stop hiding and that I owed it to both me and you to be truthful with yer.”

Kieren is heading for the door and Steve calls after him, “Yeah and I wish you hadn’t.”

Opening the door, Kieren moves to leave, but before he does, he turns back to his dad one last time.

“Yer see, the thing about Simon is, he loves me for who I am, dad, not who he wants me to be. Pity you can’t do the same.”

He slams the door shut after him and leaves Steve alone in the living room, the useless remote control still in his hand.

 

\---

 

Simon is in the living room when Kieren arrives home. He is restringing an acoustic guitar and Kieren pauses for a moment at the sight of him sitting there on the floor in front of the coffee table with the instrument on his lap.

“You’re back early,” Simon says not looking up, as Kieren continues to watch him silently, afraid to speak in case everything he feels comes tumbling out.

Simon raises his head when he does not receive a response. “Ye alright?”

Still no answer. Simon puts down the guitar and goes over to Kieren who is still standing numbly in the doorway.

“Kieren? What’s the matter?” He is getting worried now. He reaches up and cups his hand under his jaw to get his attention, looking deep into his eyes to search for answers. “Kieren?”

“I told me dad. About us,” Kieren whispers, unblinking.

Oh thank God, that is all. For a moment there… “Ah, and I take it, it didn’t go too well?”

Kieren laughs bitterly. “Yer could say that. ‘Didn’t go too well’ is certainly one way of putting it.”

Simon pulls Kieren to him and holds him tightly. “I’m sorry.”

Kieren buries his head in Simon’s shoulder for a moment; greedy for the comfort he desperately needs right now.

“S’not your fault,” he mumbles, unmoving.

Isn’t it? Simon is not so sure. “Yeah, well. If I hadn’t of pushed…”

“Yer didn’t. This is not your fault. In fact, it’s nobody’s fault. I had to tell me dad, I just thought - well I hoped - he’d be different.” Kieren pulls away, defeated. “Anyway, doesn’t matter.”

Simon does not let him go, taking both hands to his face this time and forcing Kieren to look at him.

“It _does_ matter. Do ye hear me?”

“It doesn’t,” Kieren shrugs weakly, “Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things. It was always going to be like this. Always _has_ been like this, for fuck’s sake. But it doesn’t matter now, not anymore.”

“Not anymore?” Simon repeats, not following him.

Kieren presses his forehead to Simon’s.

“Because I have you,” he says, before gently touching Simon’s lips with his own.

“Yes, ye have me and you’ll always have me,” Simon confirms, before kissing him again.

 

The second kiss turns into a third rapidly, and the third quickly merges into a fourth, and soon Simon and Kieren are grasping for one another, all hands everywhere and tongues mingled with their heavy breathing, desperately trying to get as close to one another as they possible can.

Simon blindly backs Kieren into the bedroom, unzipping his hoodie and letting it drop on to the floor. He continues on deftly unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders before starting on his own clothes. Kieren yanks his thick roll neck jumper up and between them, they pull it off hastily - cold flesh pressed against cold flesh, as they fall onto the bed.

Simon's hands are on Kieren’s waist, unbuckling his belt and making good progress on his jeans, when Kieren suddenly grabs his hand to stop him.

“Hang on, wait, wait, wait,” he pants, trying to catch his breath. “We’ve left all the lights on. It’s like Blackpool illuminations out there.”

“Wh-So what?” Simon practically stutters. Who cares about the fucking lights right now?!

“So,” Kieren says, scooting underneath him to free himself, “I better go turn them off.”

“Really?” Simon is aporetic. _“Now?!”_

“Better to do it now than have to do it after.”

“Fine!” Simon huffs, rolling onto his back and taking several deep breaths. “But hurry up, will ye?”

As Kieren passes Amy’s bedroom, he sees the door is ajar. Peering into the room, the light of the hallway illuminates it well enough to see in, but nothing has been disturbed. He closes the door softly and proceeds into the living room to turn the lights off, not noticing the small cuddly toy tiger sitting in the middle of the sofa.

Clicking the kitchen lights off and re-entering the hallway, he flicks the light switch down on the wall and heads for the only light now coming from their shared bedroom.

He stops in his tracks suddenly.

Amy’s door is open again.

“That’s weird,” he says out loud to himself.

“What is?”

He spins around at the familiar sound.

If his heart still functioned, he is certain it would have stopped mid-beat there and then.

He stares straight ahead.

“AMY?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sermon took a little to research and Rick Warren’s Easter Sermon influenced part of it. The prayer is adapted from a ‘Prayer for the dead’ found on Catholic.org so it’s not strictly Church of England. As far as I can tell, the parish church in Roarton was not given a name in the series, so I named it St. Jude who is the patron saint of hopeless cases, as it seemed fitting. Those of you who are Twilight fans will know Bella Swan wears a St. Jude saint bracelet in the film adaptations.
> 
> For the Anglo-Irish language, I looked to Guy Richie’s film Snatch. I have no idea how accurate it is (probably not very), but I think it gives a flavour of the accent I intended. The flashback scene with Julian at the bungalow starts with a scene that was in the original script for the last episode in the second series but never made it to the final cut, but the conversation between he and Simon is completely imagined. The last line about the inner circle of hell is actually a Captain Jack Sparrow quote from ‘Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl’ only I changed mutineers to sinners as it was obviously more appropriate.
> 
> For the original characters and major players in this story, I have given all biblical names in accordance with In The Flesh, not that it needed more religious symbolism.
> 
> Finally, Kieren and Steve’s conversation where he comes out to his father as being bisexual is probably the hardest thing I have had to write so far. I took great care in trying to get the tone as accurate as possible, but it is something that I have no experience of my own to draw upon, so I hope I did an okay job of making it somewhat realistic.
> 
> Again, thank you for all your lovely comments of support and those who have bookmarked this story. Much more to come and I hope to continue posting a chapter a week on Sunday nights at 10pm BST. 
> 
> I have posted this chapter early in time for the #SaveInTheFlesh campaign tonight. If you haven’t come across it yet, you can either tweet @BBCThree, blog on Tumblr tagging @BBCThree or post on BBC Three’s Facebook page #SaveInTheFlesh and support a third series being commissioned by the BBC. Go check out redeemed-from-the-earth.tumblr.com to join in with the campaign! Writing this has helped fill the In The Flesh shaped hole in my life right now, but I think we’d all prefer the real thing in the form of series three!


	5. Voices In The Night

Kieren stares straight ahead, totally and completely aghast, not quite believing what he is seeing.

“AMY!” he gasps.

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out, otherwise I’ll make yer buy me a new one, Kieren Walker,” Amy Dyer says, smiling back at him for the first time in what seems to Kieren like forever.

She is here. She is really here.

And she is back!

Kieren tries to find his voice to speak again, but only a whisper comes out. He does not even know where to begin and opens his mouth uselessly, trying to generate a sound in his throat, while his brain races trying to catch up.

“W-what yer doing here? I mean h-how? Yer… died?” He finally manages to stutter.

“Yeah, I know that, handsome. 2009 and 2013, but who’s counting, ay?”

She looks? Well. Better than well, she looks – alive - and not in the partially deceased way of being alive, like REALLY alive.

Even in the dim light of the hallway he can clearly make out the hue of her skin and it is not cover-up she is wearing. Her skin is pink and rosy; it is practically glowing with life.

“Come here, you,” she says, capturing him in a bear hug, practically squeezing the life out of him. His arms feel dumb as he holds her in return. Pulling back she pinches both his cheeks. “Oooh, I’ve missed you!” she squeals in delight.

“But… _HOW?”_ Kieren repeats, his mind stuck on a constant loop of the same question running through his head.

“We got anything in? I’m starving,” she says, ignoring him and heading for the kitchen, turning the lights back on. “Not eating in five years really gives you an appetite. I just can’t stop stuffing me face. I’m telling yer, I’ve got the serious munchies now!” she laughs, inspecting the poor contents of the fridge and patting her stomach. “Gonna be the size of a house if I carry on like this.”

Simon emerges from the bedroom upon hearing the commotion, 

“What’s going on… Amy?!” He looks surprised too, but Kieren notices not quite as surprised as he should be; not nearly as surprised as he is, anyway.

“Ah, there’s my big, gorgeous, hunk of a man,” she beams, abandoning her hunt for food and pulling Simon down against her into a hug. He grunts at the impact.

Greeting hug time over, all they can do is both look back at her, mouths open.

She laughs at their reactions. “Honestly, look at yer both! For two people who have come back from the grave themselves, anyone would think you’re seeing a ghost right now.”

“Are we?” Kieren asks. He knows it sounds ludicrous, but at this point he is starting to think anything might be possible. Those rumours about vampires and werewolves running amok in South Wales do not seem quite so ridiculous anymore.

“As if?” Amy scoffs.

Simon regains his composure quickly and takes her by the waist, lifting her off the floor for another squeeze, perhaps to make sure she is real. “It’s good to have ye back. Not been the same without ye.”

“It’s good to be back. And the two of yous, all shacked up together in a little love nest,” she looks adoringly at them. “Glad the bungalow hasn’t gone to waste while I’ve been away. Good thing yer looked after useless here, was worried how he’d cope without me tying his shoelaces for him,” she remarks to Simon.

Kieren rolls his eyes. Wherever Amy has been, she has certainly not changed. It is still the same old Amy.

“Milk! Yer got milk,” she exclaims excitedly. “There should still be some teabags in the cupboard. Absolutely gasping, me.”

After boiling some water in the old fashioned kettle on the gas hob, its high pitch whistle echoing through the bungalow as the water is brought to the boil, she makes a cup of tea for herself, moving into the living room when she is done. Simon and Kieren follow behind.

She sits in the armchair, taking the cuddly toy tiger and putting it on her lap while blowing on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. Simon and Kieren sit together on the sofa mutely.

Amy notices something at their feet. “Hey, isn’t that yer old guitar from the commune?”

Simon glances toward the instrument still lying on the carpet in front of him and nods.

“Yer been back to the Lake District then?” she asks, completely ignorant of the events of the past few months. “How’s everyone doing there?”

Simon shakes his head, “Not been back.” He leaves out the part about thinking he was not welcome, along with the Undead Prophet’s demand for him to kill The First Risen. That was a story for another time.

Kieren realises he had not even considered earlier where Simon got the guitar from when he came home that evening, too wrapped up in his churning emotions from the argument with his father. He knew Simon had not visited the commune again, so where had it come from, exactly? Although, out of the two mysteriously appearing things this evening, the old battered musical instrument certainly ran a distant second to his two times deceased friend.

“So then, how is everyone else?” Amy continues, still not venturing an explanation as to how she is sitting there with them after they buried her in December. “How’s Philip? Have yer seen him lately?” Her tone is casual, but neither Kieren or Simon are fooled.

“He’s okay,” Kieren tells her. “Missing yer, a lot.”

“Aww, what’s he like, ay?” She simpers.

Kieren looks at her properly, just sitting there, drinking tea, as if nothing has happened. He never knew Amy when she was alive so has no idea if this is how she was before she died – the first time around that is – or whatever she has been through has transformed her into what she is like now.

As he takes in her new appearance, he realises he finds her quite stunning. She could certainly pull off the pale skin and white eyed appearance of the partially deceased, but as this warmed up version, she is a sight to behold. Her cheeks are flush; lips full and luscious; and her eyes are the most amazing shade of hazel he has ever seen. The choice of Irisalways Contact lenses he was offered in Norfolk was blue or brown, so he was lucky his eyes before he died matched one of those options, but for Amy he realises, it would not have been ideal. Hazel eyes aside, she is absolutely beautiful now, bursting with life, and sitting in front of them as if she has simply been away for a short time on one of her extended day trips.

She asks lots more questions about the village and they catch her up on all she has missed over the last four months with the exception of the Beating of the Bounds march - which to be fair is not a lot – and she laughs and says crazy things as usual, as she slowly drinks her tea. Neither Kieren or Simon ask the question again they both most want to know. Chance of getting a word in edgeways would be a fine thing anyway.

Finally Amy yawns.

“Time to be off to Bedfordshire, I think,” she says, stifling a second yawn and setting the empty mug on the coffee table.

It is late and Kieren is exhausted by the day’s events, but he cannot imagine being able to sleep tonight. His brain was never going to shut off and allow him to slip into blissful unconsciousness now.

“What, already?” Kieren quickly rises to his feet as Amy does the same. She cannot leave yet without offering them any answers at all. “But yer haven’t told us anything, Amy? Where have yer been all this time?”

She kisses him gently on the cheek and then leans over to kiss Simon also. It is a reassuring gesture, but still Kieren’s nerves are frayed.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell yer about it tomorrow. Yer should always leave them wanting more,” she says, making a vague waving movement with her hand as she wanders into her old bedroom, leaving Simon and Kieren alone in the living room and none the wiser as to what is going on.

Amy is back though, and she is okay, and that is all that matters.

For now, at least.

 

\---

 

With Amy home, the bungalow in the morning is a buzz of activity. By the time Kieren and Simon get up, she has already been out to the corner shop and stocked up on the basics and the kitchen is filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon and eggs on the cooker. It is enough to make Kieren’s mouth water, if only he could still eat.

“That smells amazing,” Kieren says to Amy as he sits down at the kitchen table to watch her cook, happy in the simple pleasure of being in her presence once again.

“Well I would offer to go splitsies on it, but it’ll only make yer sick, and don’t want that on my first day back.” Amy turns her attention back to the frying pan and then looks back up at him from underneath her eyelashes. “Don’t suppose you’ve tried to eat anything while I’ve been away, have yer?”

What sort of question is that?

“Erm, nooo,” he answers, a little perplexed. Then a thought occurs to him. Perhaps Amy is referring to food of the less conventional kind?

“Oh! _No._ Of course not,” Kieren objects suddenly at the realisation. “Sheep’s brains aren’t really my thing, unless you’re asking if I’ve gone rabid while you’ve been away and attacked a few passers by on the side? I can assure yer the answer to that one is also, and most definitely, a _no_ too.”

“I didn’t mean that, dumdum. Just wondered if yer ever fancied trying living food again, that’s all?” she continued, deliberately not making eye contact and instead busying herself by putting a couple of slices of bread in the toaster.

“Not really, rather think I’m over that now.”

“Over what?” Simon asks, coming into the kitchen and padding down his pockets.

“Yer left them in your coat hanging up by the door,” Kieren informs him. Amy raises her eyebrows at the two of them together and grins to herself.

“What would I do without ye, ay?” Simon smiles, leaning over and hooking his index finger under Kieren’s chin to raise his face to his and gives him a quick peck on the lips to say thank you.

Kieren tries his best not to look dazzled, but when Simon is in a good mood - as he is this morning - it is more of a challenge than Kieren can live up to.

“Smoke less, maybe?” Kieren says, trying to keep it cool, but his eyes still follow Simon as he leaves through the hall toward the front door, his gaze automatically dropping to somewhere slightly below Simon’s waist. Sometimes he just could not help himself.

“Aw, right married couple yer two are. It’s like Mr and Mr Undead-Happily-Ever-After.”

He shakes his head at her. “Amy, shut up!”

“I think it’s rather sweet actually. Who’d a thought it?” she winks before breaking into a singsong tone, ‘Kieren and Simon sitting in a tree, K – I – S – S – I – N - G.”

Kieren pulls a face. “I think I’ll go outside and join him.”

He pushes his chair back to leave and it scrapes nosily across the kitchen floor.

“Wait up,” Amy shouts back, turning off the hob and quickly pouring herself a coffee, “I’ll come with yer.”

 

The three of them sit on the front step, Simon rolling a cigarette, while Kieren and Amy watch the world go by – well, an occasional neighbour go by, anyway.

“Morning, Mrs. Cooper,” Amy calls out loudly to the women who lives two houses down. The elderly lady looks up to wish her a good morning in return and then her eyes widen in surprise, before mumbling her greeting and hurrying past.

The three of them sitting together in front of the bungalow must look quite a sight; two PDS with dead white skin and pinprick eyes and another next to them, back from the dead for a second time and never looking more alive.

Amy laughs at the thought. “That will be all around the village in the next hour. Mrs Cooper is a such gossip.”

Kieren and Amy natter on happily, as Simon lights his rollup and takes a long drag. He tries to concentrate on their conversation, but his mind keeps pulling him back to thoughts of the camp site and Vicar Sinclair’s words to him the day before. So much has happened in such a short period of time, he does not know what to attempt to process first.

Their never-ending chatter continues on for some time. Amy tells them briefly and with little detail of how she found herself back at the treatment centre in Norfolk. She explains that the first thing she remembers is her heart beating and that now she is on new medication, administered in the same way, but instead of preventing her from becoming rabid, it keeps her from reverting back to a PDS state. Despite Kieren’s prompts, she appears reluctant to say much more, or perhaps she simply does not know any more, and Simon remains quiet, taking it all in and joining the dots together. He had heard some things back in the commune, whispers of prophecies of PDS being cured and yet still living forever, but it had always been assumed that it would be linked with The Second Rising. That is why the disciples had been sent on a mission to find The First, but if other PDS were warming up as Amy had, was another Rising even necessary anymore?

Long after Simon has finished his first cigarette, they continued to talk on the bungalow step. Leaning over to stub his second cigarette of the day out on the floor in front of him, he realises he and Kieren needed to be conscious now of Amy’s new requirements. They could help her administer her daily shots as normal, but they should also make sure she ate and drank regularly and kept herself healthy, as after all this time of going without such concerns, he could see how easily she could forget and lapse back into undead behaviour.

“I’m heading back in. Amy, can I get ye another coffee?”

“Another cuppa would be fab,” she says, handing him her empty mug, before he disappears into the bungalow.

Amy leans back on her hands and raises her face to the sky, basking in the warmth of the sun she can now finally feel once again. Kieren watches her silently, marvelling at the transformation and slightly envious of her returned senses. He had observed that his were coming back slowly, something he and Doctor Russo had discussed, but not to the extent of what Amy was able to experience now. She catches him looking at her and sits back up straight a little self-consciously.

They can hear Simon in the kitchen, making Amy another coffee. “Well, yer got him well trained, haven’t you?” she says, bumping his shoulders with her own. “I just can’t get over what an adorable couple yer make.”

Kieren sighs at the soppy description, attempting to cover his embarrassment. “Yer said already.”

“No harm in saying it again, loverboy. Bet the fam is over the moon, aren't they?”

“Yeah, dad in particular was thrilled at the news.” Kieren tries to gloss over it, but he knew it was something that still needed to be dealt with. So, moving on. “Adorable? Really, Amy? Simon will be well chuffed. Exactly what we were going for, that.”

“Well in that case, yer nailed it!” Amy laughs, punching the air in success, before turning uncharacteristically serious. “Yer are happy though, yeah? Wondered if you'd still be here when I got back.”

Kieren looks at her for a moment before considering an answer. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he thinks of how much he has missed his BDFF – or BFF really, under the circumstances.

“Yes I am. Didn't have to go 'round the whole world to find it after all. It’s funny because up until recently, I didn’t realise that I couldn’t remember what it felt like. To be happy, I mean. It’s been so long…”

He stops abruptly as Rick flashes through his mind. There was a time that Amy’s epitaph, taken from Lord Tennyson’s poem ‘In Memoriam A.H.H’, seemed like a cruel joke to his mind.

_I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most;_

_'Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all._

Yeah, right!

Then Kieren remembers Philip. He remembers the look of disbelief on his face as Doctor Russo told them Amy was gone; he remembers his sheer isolation at her funeral and refusal to leave her side after her coffin was in the ground; and he remembers his unwavering belief that he would see her again during all those months between then and now.

“Amy, did Phil know yer were coming back?”

Amy starts to play with a stray blade of grass that has found a crack in the concrete and for a moment Kieren thinks that again he is not going to get an answer.

“Nobody knew,” she finally says quietly, shaking her head and making her long hair sway gently from side to side. “I didn’t even know.”

Kieren thinks of the flowers Philip left in her room instead of her graveside. Simon was right after all - or rather Emily Dickinson was - as it turns out; hope never does stop at all.

He imagines Simon smiling that knowing smile at him and saying, 'Not so fucking weird after all then, ay, Kieren?' and he smiles briefly in return at the imaginary version in his head of his lover.

“When yer going to tell him, Amy? Or rather, when yer gonna see him?”

Amy shrugs. She desperately wants to see Philip, but is afraid of his reaction. Will he still like her now she is no longer PDS? He had told her once that he would like her hot, cold or even tepid, but the proof would be in the pudding. She is alive again now, well Re-alive is what they were calling it back at the treatment centre, but will he see her as a different person because of it? Has he moved on? Found someone new? She had seen the flowers in her room, but maybe that was just guilt or a misplaced sense of obligation? Mrs. Cooper would be spreading the news of her return as they speak, so she knew she had to find him and find him quickly. When he finds out, it should not be by second hand means, she needed to do it herself.

“Thought I might go and find him this morning actually,” she whispers, as if it is a secret she can only share with Kieren. She has butterflies in her stomach and her heart is beating faster at the thought. Part of her is so excited at the idea of seeing him again and the other part is terrified. They had only had a short time together, perhaps it did not mean as much to him as it did to her?

She stands up and brushes her skirt down.

“No time like the present, I guess,” she says, just as Simon comes back out and hands her a fresh mug. “Well, maybe after I’ve had this, and breakfast, of course.”

 

\---

 

Philip was sitting in the town hall, the Monday morning council meeting notes laid out before him on the table. Despite the village scandal regarding the PDS brothel, without Vicar Oddie and Maxine Martin the parish council were in desperate need of someone who knew the ropes. Philip had worked his way up to councillor from a lowly clerk and knew everything back to front, so the parish had the choice of either reinstating him or trying to muddle through on their own. Not wishing to back down and swallow their pride, they had struggled on and tried the latter option for a few weeks until Vicar Sinclair had been appointed as the new parish priest, and thus head of the parish council. He had reinstated Councillor Wilson almost immediately after seeing the disorder that had resulted without him and so the council was now made up of the Vicar, Philip, Pearl Pindar, Duncan Lancashire and Abigail Swan. If they were in the House of Commons it would have been a hung parliament, as more often than not, their views were split completely down the middle with Philip and Duncan voting one way and Pearl and Abigail voting another, so it was always left up to the vicar to cast the deciding vote.

Once the council was assembled and seated around the group of tables in the hall, Philip set to work on going through the agenda of topics to be discussed. There had been a problem with cars speeding through the village and several residents had complained that it was an accident waiting to happen unless something was done about it pronto. Philip had discussed this matter with the local Police Constable who informed him speed cameras could only be placed in black spots where there had already been a fatality - something they were rather hoping to avoid - so he had been looking into other measures to prevent such an event occurring and is listing the options in detail when Pearl, losing patience, interrupts him rudely.

“Never mind the ruddy traffic calming and sleeping policemen, what we going to do about the Pikey caravan site up on Lambert Farm land?”

Philip had been made aware of the traveller’s and was hoping to avoid discussing it at the meeting. He knew at this point in time nothing could, or in fact should, be done. Not yet anyway, unless they had just cause.

“They haven’t caused a disturbance, have they?” Duncan asks as Philip keeps his head down, eyes fixed on his papers, sneaking a side glance at Vicar Sinclair, who is sitting back comfortably in his chair, arms crossed and appearing totally relaxed.

“Not exactly, but they came in to my pub on Saturday night. Bold as brass they were. Knew there was going to be bother the second they walked in. Gave me quite a fright, truth be told, coming in all bare faced with those beady eyes of theirs.”

“How awful,” Abigail sympathises, putting her hand on her friend’s. “Tell us what happened, Pearl?”

“It was Jemima Walker’s birthday do and those Pikey Rotters come in and started stirring things up. Had to throw Kieren’s Irish mate and Gary Kendal out after that.”

“No, yer never,” a voice echoes from the front of the hall. It is Dean coming to collect some supplies from the back office for the day’s Give Back Scheme duties. “I was there,” Dean continues, approaching the cluster of tables in the centre of the hall where they are all sitting watching him.

Vicar Sinclair sits forward with interest, hands closed in front of him. “Why don’t you tell us what you saw, Dean?”

“Okay then,” he says, happy to be listened to for a change. “So those newbie undeadons turned up, right? But they never caused no trouble. Gazza just had too much to drink and Simon threw him out on his ear. End of.”

“Do yer mind, Dean? I think you’ll find this is a parish council meeting,” Pearl says tightly to him through clenched teeth at being so thoroughly contradicted.

Dean takes off his cap and scratches the back of his head before putting it back in place. “So what?”

Abigail is glaring unapprovingly at Dean too now. “So it’s confidential,” she spells out, as if explaining to child.

“Conferwhat? Oh, yer mean not to blab to anyone.”

Philip tries to suppress a smile.

“No, I mean you’re not allowed to be here, full stop.” Pearl corrects, jerking her head to one side toward the door for him to leave forthwith.

“Well, I only wanted to get a couple of things and the register for me clipboard. We’re a bit short on Give Back participants today.”

This gets everyone’s attention. Non-compliant PDS Sufferers is something no parish council wants on their hands. ULA terrorist attacks and Blue Oblivion drug abuse has thankfully not been a part of village life for some months now, but the very whisper of it put the whole townsfolk on alert.

“Who is missing?” Vicar Sinclair asks, sitting back once again in his chair, apparently not as concerned as the others are.

“Dunno, that’s what I wanted to check,” Dean reasons. “Simon Monroe for starters. Oh, and Kieren Walker.”

“See? Kieren’s Irish one. Again! He’s one bad apple; don’t know why Sue and Steve put up with it. I tell yer, that boy’ll swing for him one day and it’s not like Kieren needs an excuse to go off the rails,” Pearl grumbles, crossing her arms as if to say she told them so.

Dean mutters under his breath as he begins to shuffle off. “Bloody tapped, the lot of them. Make right good politicians, as if?!”

Philip sighs and looks at his watch. They have wasted enough time already. “Can we move on please? Got a lot to get through this morning”

They all look to Dean, who has still not left and is making as much noise as possible. He looks back at them slowly, aware of the silence that only he is disturbing.

“Oh I get it, ‘Dean, do one.’ Alright, alright, I can take a hint, me. I’m going. See?”

Dean finally leaves and Philip is able to begin again. “Anyway, back to the order of the day.”

“Oh, no yer don’t, Philip. What are we going to about those Pikeys?” Pearls says, stabbing her index finger on the table to make her point. Philip watches her, thankful that the table is taking the assault and not himself.

“Well, technically, they’re not doing anything illegal,” he points out, wincing at the impending reactions.

Abigail looks absolutely horrified. “They’re trespassing and that’s just for starters.”

Philip stays calm. “Firstly, Mrs Lamb - Pearl, yer have to keep in mind that all Lambert Farm estate is currently in probate and as such is not owned by any one individual at this time. In effect, this means that no one can make the complaint of trespassing on their land to the Police until the matter has been concluded.” Philip cannot be sure, but he suspects that if he dared to glance up at Vicar Sinclair, he would find him smiling just a little. Instead, he looks down in concentration to carry on pulling apart Pearl’s objects with his knowledge of the law. “And secondly, there is a loophole used by travellers that states that possession is nine tenths of the law and thus they have squatters rights on the land.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Pearl asks, not even trying to hide her fury.

“It means,” Vicar Sinclair speaks up, “That we leave them be.”

Philip looks back at her innocently, as Pearl does a wonderful impression of chewing a wasp.

 

After the meeting concludes to few of the member’s satisfaction, everyone leaves quickly, not wishing to spending any more time with one another. Emotions were running high and no one wanted to say anything they may later regret when it got them thrown off the council. Philip stayed behind to clear everything away.

After stacking up the chairs and folding away the tables, he moved them back into the storage room, before retreating into the back office. Next he begins the task of filling away the sheets from the meeting into the relevant files in the filing cabinets against the far wall. As he does so, he notices on the desk Dean’s clipboard and register, which after all the fuss earlier, he had left behind anyway. He picked it up to look at the previous week’s attendance and barely took any notice when the main door open and closed as someone entered the hall.

“In here, Dean,” he calls out. Maybe he should appoint someone else to take on the Give Back Scheme duties from now on, not that anyone was queuing up to take on the role. “I’ve got your clipboard here. Maybe in future, yer should just…”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Amy is standing there, looking at him apprehensively.

She wills herself to look dead ahead holding his gaze, while her nerves batter her internally, having no idea what to expect his reaction to be upon seeing her after all this time. He looks exactly the same as she remembers him. His hair is a little longer and he looks a little paler. There are dark circles underneath his eyes like he has not had a good night's sleep in months, but she does not see fear or even shock on his face, just joy and relief. His smile slowly spreads wide across his face from ear to ear.

“Amy, you’re back,” he exclaims, surging forward without a second's thought and sweeping her up in his arms in an instant. He kisses her hard, not waiting for permission or with any hesitancy. “I knew yer would come back to me, I just knew it!”

She wraps her own arms around in and holds him tightly, partly with relief and partly because it is unmistakably the only place in the world she wants to be.

“How’s it going, Tiger?” she grins, still slightly taken aback by his total acceptance of the situation.

“Much better for seeing you,” he says, taking her face in his hands, eyes roaming over familiar features and kissing her again more gently this time.

Her eyes begin to well up with tears of relief and he wipes them away with his thumbs as they start to trickle down her warm cheeks.

“Hey, none of this,” he says softly, “You're home now, where you belong and we're together again. Welcome home, Amy.”

Feeling more safe and happy than she has for the four long months since she was last with him, she tells him honestly, “It’s good to be home.” She knows the home she is referring to is not a place - it is not Roarton - for Amy, home is a person now and that person is Philip. He is where she belongs and wherever he is, that is where home will always be for her from now on.

They just look at each other for a long time in silence.

“So how’d yer like me now?’ she finally asks shyly. Despite this and in total Amy Dyer fashion, she proceeds to do a twirl for him to give Philip the full Re-alive effect, her full skirt swooshing around her legs as she pirouettes. “Do yer like what yer see, me being all warmed up and all?”

He laughs, taking her hands in his own as she completes her 360 and faces him once again. “Amy Dyer, yer know, I always thought yer were pretty hot even when you were cold!”

 

\---

 

Late afternoon, Kieren found himself at his parent’s front door, hand hovering over the doorbell. They say to never let the sun go down on an argument, so despite feeling that it should be his dad making the first move, he had swallowed his pride and decided to take the first step himself. Things had been so good recently, and now with Amy back they could be perfect, if only he could sort things out with Steve, so he pressed the button and the doorbell chimed.

“Kieren, yer alright, love?” Sue says to him upon answering the door and standing aside to let him in the house. “You’re just in time, was about to puttle the kettle on for a brew. Would yer like one?”

“Sure, I’ll have my usual, black with no tea please,” he automatically says sarcastically. Ooops, it is not his mother his is annoyed at after all, so he tries again, “Sorry mum, just a bit stressed today. Dad in?”

Sue goes to make a pot of tea in the kitchen anyway instead of a one cup for herself and Kieren waits for her in the living room, making himself comfortable on the sofa in front of the TV showing BBC One’s six o’clock news.

“He’s still at work I’m afraid. Rang to say he was going to be a bit late tonight. Anything I can help with?” she calls back.

“No,” he replies, picking up the remote control which now has working batteries again, to change the channel. “He and I had a bit of a barney yesterday and just thought I better come round to clear the air.”

“Oh yeah?” Sue said, coming in a setting down the teapot on the coffee table, along with two mugs and a plate of chocolate digestive buscuits. “He never said 'owt to me.”

Kieren is considering explaining when something on the television caught his attention. The BBC newsreader, Fiona Bruce, is saying something about Victus, so he turned the volume up to hear better.

“The Pro-Living party Victus is celebrating what they are calling “a major win for the rights of the living” tonight after their proposed bill to reconstitutionalise capital punishment in the UK and Northern Ireland was passed today,” she read out from the autocue, an image of the Victus and ULA groups' logos superimposed on the screen beside her. “Our Political Editor Nick Robinson is at Parliament now. Nick?”

Nick Robinson is standing in front of The Houses of Parliament, infrequently gesturing animatedly with his hands as he spoke. “Introduced as a private bill and subject only to the Partially Deceased, it was passed on a free vote in the House of Commons by 253 votes to 45, with the House of Lords also passing it by an overwhelming majority of 304 votes to 4.

“This new law will give judges the ability to hand down the death penalty to treated PDS Sufferers who are found guilty of the murder or manslaughter of any living person. The bill was unprecedentedly fast tracked as a response to the Undead Liberation Army terrorist attack on a Sedfield tram six months ago, which was responsible for the deaths of thirteen people.

“But now the Anti-PDS party Victus has delivered a significant blow to the Government by saying enough is enough and we need to act now. They put forward this bill, fought hard for it, and today succeeded in bringing back capital punishment for treated PDS convicted of the crime of killing a living person intentionally or otherwise.”

Sue puts her hand over her mouth as the outside broadcast ends, cutting back to Fiona Bruce in the studio, who takes up the next thread of the story.

“It was announced by a Victus Party official that the method of execution will take the form of lethal injection developed by Halperin & Weston Pharmaceuticals, who already manufacture the PDS drug Neurotriptyline, and will see convicted PDS Suffers taken from court and executed within 24 hours of sentence.

“As Nick stated in his report, the bill is in response to the terrorist attack in Sedfield earlier this year. Our Security Correspondent Frank Gardner is here.”

Kieren and Sue exchanged worried glances with one another before turning their attention back to the television.

“Great Britain and Northern Ireland have been all too familiar with terrorist attacks over the past few decades," he says, standing with a walking frame for support in front of a graphic wall display, images changing as he speaks. "Many are still haunted by the IRA bombings of the 1970's and 80's, including Hyde Park and Regent's Park of 1982 and The Grand Hotel in Brighton two years later.

In 2005 Al Qaeda claimed responsibility for the 7/7 London bombings, which killed 52 people, but now The War On Terror has shifted its sights on to the British PDS terrorist group, known as the ULA, or Undead Liberation Army. This extremist group, whose stated goals include bringing about a Second Rising of the undead, is lead by a Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferer who calls himself The Undead Prophet. His identity is unknown, but even so he has been climbing the ranks of the American Government’s Most Wanted list.

“The ULA recruit followers via a password protected internet website and distributes the Rabid state inducing banned drug, Blue Oblivion, to PDS Sufferers not only up and down the country, but around the world, in order to carry out attacks on the living such as the Sedfield Metrolink and the aborted Eastford Shopping Centre.

“Now this new bill in the wake of these events makes sense you might say, so why is this so ground breaking?

“Well, for two reasons.

“Firstly, the death penalty has been abolished in Great Britain since 1965 and in Northern Ireland since 1973 and even then it was only handed down to those who were convicted of murder and not manslaughter. Victus argue that as PDS are only partially alive, they should not be granted equal human rights to the living population. They have already been given a second shot at life, so take away another’s, and Victus says theirs should be forfeited.

“Secondly, and even more controversially, is the time in which the sentence is to be carried out. Once sentenced, those who are convicted will be transported to a new maximum-security unit at the Halperin & Weston headquarters in Norfolk and will be administered a lethal injection within a twenty-four hour period. As with executions in many states of America, the families of both the victim and the criminal will be invited to watch.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kieren utters, mainly to himself. “They’re just never going to stop. It just gets worse and worse. They’ll have us in work camps soon!”

Sue moves to sit next to her son and squeezes his hand as he continues to gaze ahead at the television. “Don’t worry, love. It’ll be alright. It’s just shock tactics, that’s all. And anyway, it’s not like you’ll be getting mixed up with all that anyway, so it won’t effect yer.”

“That’s not the point, mum,” Kieren exclaims, turning his livid eyes on her.

“I know, love, I know,” she says, putting her arm around his shoulders like she did when he was upset as a child. “It’ll be alright though, you’ll see.”

Kieren tried to smile a grim smile in return, but he found it hard to act as if he believed her words. Things were not alright and they were not likely to be alright again. In fact, just when he thought things might be looking up, they only ever seemed to take a turn for the worse.

 

\---

 

Simon sits on the edge of the bed for some time, his head in his hands, trying to process his thoughts into an ordered manner. It does not escape his attention that he is on Kieren’s side of the bed. He sits up and smooths the duvet free of wrinkles and looks toward the wardrobe ahead of him.

He is amazed at how everything could change in the matter of a few days and sitting in the Walker’s living room, helping Kieren’s father, while the most precious thing in this world to Simon was packing his belongs to start a life with him, could almost be a lifetime ago now.

His mind is a battleground with thoughts of conversations coursing through his memory. They jump from Julian, the camp site and the ULA, Vicar Sinclair’s sermon, to Kieren and Simon’s relationship potentially getting in the way of the Walker’s family peace, and Amy’s return, alive and well, miraculously cured of PDS and the leukaemia that killed her.

There was so much to be happy about, but also so much of the unknown to be feared and Simon had not idea how this was going to go. He knew one thing though; he could not just sit on the sidelines and watch as events unfold, or be played like a puppet with others pulling his strings to determine the outcome.

Since The Rising, he had been quite a different man to the one he once was when he was alive. For the most part this was all for the good, but the old Simon had the advantage of not caring about anything, so he made his decisions and tailored his actions to ensure the any result was what he most wanted. Now he did care, he cared a great deal and had one thing above all that he could not lose.

He thought back to living Simon Monroe; the depressive, the junkie. Perhaps it would not even be so far as to say, the sociopath, as it was after all, hard to empathise with other people when you could not even empathise with yourself. But that Simon knew how to get what he wanted and if this new Simon could harness that, just a little, and do good with it, then that would not be so bad. Would it?

 

The discussion Simon had had with Vicar Sinclair at St. Jude’s on Sunday morning, had been enlightening, to say the least. He had wanted to speak to him after his sermon. Partly because something was nagging at his brain that this all did not quite fit, there was something familiar but at the same time totally new, and Simon could not put his finger on what that was. Yes, he had been inspired by the vicar’s words and was surprised to notice they seem to have had a profound effect on Kieren also, but there was something more. Something from the past. But what was it? Perhaps speaking to him alone would shed a little further light on it and jog his memory.

“I’m glad you came,” was the first thing Vicar Sinclair had said to Simon after he had disrobed from his ceremonial attire and headed straight for him at the back after the service.

Simon had smiled and politely taken his hand as offered, but he was more than a little suspicious of the man standing before him, so he started as he planned to continue, “Nice sermon. Do ye believe it?”

The vicar had simply nodded slowly. Simon was not the only one trying to size the other up. “Yes, I believe it. Do you?”

Simon looked into his eyes, trying to read a hidden message within them. “I don’t know what to believe in anymore, Father.”

“Well, let’s start with what you did believe in,” the vicar said, gesturing for them both to sit down in a pew at the back, “And go from there, shall we?”

“What did I believe in?” Simon asked himself, taking a seat. “That’s a complicated question. It all depends on if ye mean before I died, or after I came back?”

The vicar said nothing, just waited for Simon to choose what he wanted to focus on, as that was likely the most important anyway, so Simon hesitantly continued.

“When I was alive I didn’t believe much in anything. Except for that there was nothing much to believe in.”

“And why was that?” The vicar probed further, not so much as blinking at the revelation. Probably heard this tale of woe a hundred times before.

“Dunno,” Simon shrugged, “I don’t."

"So what led you to feel that way, Simon?"

Was he going to tell this vicar the truth? It had come so easily when he told Kieren about his life six months before, but then at the time he was trying to convert him so the memories, still raw and painful, at least served a purpose. Simon had no such agenda now.

They do say the truth will set you free though - worth a shot at least. Best to get it over and done with in that case.

"I spent the best part of three decades feeling like this whole existence was just one big mistake, Father. No other reason other than that. I had no wrong done to me; no childhood trauma, nothing like that. I just always had this overwhelming notion that God must have been having an off day, ye know? Could practically imagine Him saying, "This'll be a crack" as He placed this germ called a human being on the earth.”

The vicar remained silent - just listening - so Simon went on, letting his subconscious have a voice for once.

“But God always has a plan. That's what the Bible teaches us, no? So I came to realise that to make up for it, His punishment was to make us all walk on this treadmill of futility until we finally had sense enough to give up and rot away back to being dust in the dirt from which we came.”

“Is that how you died? Did you end it for yourself, Simon?” Vicar Sinclair was a direct man, Simon liked that. At least you knew where you stood with a man like that.

“No, not intentionally, anyway. Probably would have been better if I had. They say suicide is the coward’s way out; it’s not. And I know you’re probably going to tell me it’s a sin in the eye’s of God. But to make that sort of decision? To make a stand and say, "No more"? That takes courage. Courage I didn’t have.”

Simon shook his head at the decisions he chose, such a long time ago.

“It would have been better for me, for my family, had I taken that path. Instead I took another, the _real_ coward’s option."

"Recreational drugs." The vicar did not say the words as a question, but stated them instead.

"Recreational? Not exactly. But I did find sweet oblivion in the point of a needle. It was only a matter of time until the needle had the last laugh and one minute I’m on a dirty floor, tourniquet tied tightly around my arm, syringe in hand and when I next open my eyes..." Simon knew he did not need to finish the sentence, but finish it he did, "I woke up dead, so to speak."

The vicar looked contemplatively at him. It is hard to imagine for anyone living what the sensation is like. To be buried, not alive, but undead. It is the thing that bonds every single PDS Sufferer to one another. The thing that makes them closer than family in a way. You have to have experienced it for yourself to every truly understand it, and no matter how vivid an imagination someone has, they will only barely ever touch the surface (no pun intended).

Simon continues, "Buried in the earth, six foot down in a box and it’s pitch black. All I know is I have to get out. Instinct _compels_ me to escape. And when I do, it’s like being born again. Everything feels like it’s been washed clean somehow.”

Simon looked up at the cross behind the altar, his eyes glossing over at the memory.

“That is exactly what I was speaking about,” Vicar Sinclair reassured him, “Reborn a new. You have been given a gift from God, the mortal body made immortal. He does love you, Simon, and He showed you that by raising you from the dead and forgiving you your sins.”

Simon laughed at this, but the sound was hollow and had no humour in it. “Ye missed out a bit though, Father, in your sermon. The part where your sins follow you into the next life to claim their payment. When I came back, I did some things that I don’t deserve to be forgiven for. I can’t forgive myself for.”

The vicar nodded in understanding, but was not insensitive as to ask the nature of the sins Simon alluded to.

“When a child is born, they are innocent. It is up to the rest of us to show them the way. After The Rising, no one guided or helped those who had been redeemed. On the third day, when Jesus rose from…”

“Forgive me, Father, but I don’t remember reading anywhere in the Bible that after the stone was rolled away from His tomb, Jesus then killed those closest to him.”

“Well, certainly not in the Gospels, but it might well crop up in the Gnostics,” Vicar Sinclair joked, unmoved by the horrific picture Simon painted.

“After the…,” Simon paused then, there was no accurate way of describing what he went through, so he settled on the conventional term instead, “ _treatment_ , The Undead Liberation Army found me and showed me that I could have a purpose. And after that? Well, then I could see a point to it all. I never had that in my first life; people who believed in me and gave me something to believe. And that's all I'd ever wanted; all I'd ever needed, I guess. I'd have done anything for it. Still would.”

“I understand you were close to the one they call the Undead Prophet. You were a disciple of his? Is this right?”

“I was,” Simon agreed, although he knew he had probably said too much already.

“But not anymore?” Vicar Sinclair pressed and Simon shook his head. “Why not? What changed?”

“If I'm honest, I think I just needed to belong. They accepted me and showed me love, but..."

The vicar looked intrigued for the first time during their conversation. Eager to hear the rest of the sentence, he pushed Simon on, _"But?"_

"But that love was on a condition."

Simon thought back to the ULA and how they had turned their backs on him the second he had not done what they wanted him to do. When he spoke next, it was as if he was speaking to himself, the vicar's presence next to him all but forgotten.

"It’s a strange term, unconditional love. I never really understood it before. I must have heard it a thousand times; how a mother loves her child unconditionally, or God loves us no matter our sins. But understanding the meaning and then coming to experience it yourself are quite different things.” He looked up ahead of him at the stained glass windows. His eyes roamed over the brightly coloured vision of Jesus on the cross, and then moved slowly over to his three mourners below. Suddenly, the image meant so much more to him and his next words came out as little more than a whisper, “Then in one moment, one single second, I comprehended it exactly."

 

Simon found himself standing once again behind the dry stone wall of the new cemetery, bone cutter in hand, waiting for the church clock to chime twelve - the twelfth hour of the twelfth day of the twelfth month, just as the prophecy had stated. He was watching his target, The First Risen, whom he had been instructed to kill by the Undead Prophet to trigger The Second Rising.

Kieren was rabid on Blue Oblivion, approaching his father who held the naive belief that his son would not hurt him even in such a state. There was a crowd gathered and his sister Jem and one of the other villagers, Pearl Pinder, both had guns trained on Kieren, ready at any moment to fire if he started to attack.

It should have been easy. Simon could have plunged the knife into the back of Kieren's skull and no one would have condemned him for it. He could have claimed to be protecting the living, even be revered as a hero in doing so.

But Kieren was fighting the rabid inducing drug, and Simon had never seen anyone fight the effects of Blue Oblivion before.

Kieren was special. He was incredible.

Simon looked down at the knife in his hand. He knew a world without Kieren, even if that world had experienced The Second Rising, was not a world he could bare to exist in. No Rising was worth Kieren's life and no belief, no matter how strong, was worth killing him for.

 _"Got yer!"_  Gary Kendal was on him, a hunting blade against his throat.

Kieren's hands were on Steve's shoulders when Simon next looked back at the scene playing out in front of them. His body shaking, he had raised his head to look at his father, but Pearl was advancing. She was going to take action thinking she was saving Steve's life and Simon knew in that moment, he had run out of time.

He had to make a choice. Right then. The ULA or Kieren Walker?

He chose.

 

"I didn’t care about myself, I just needed to keep him safe. There was a fifty-fifty chance if I got between that bullet and Kieren, it would hit my torso and we would both walk away unharmed. Then again, it could have just as easily found its way just a few inches higher and they would be putting me back in that box again, for good this time."

Simon could still hear the sound of the gun firing when he threw himself in front of Kieren. What must have been a fraction of a second had lingered on for so long, until he finally felt the impact of the bullet as it penetrated his back.

"It really didn’t matter to me. And that's when I realised! My first life and my second, all of it and none of it, significant and utterly insignificant, because he changed everything and I finally understood the purpose of existence.' Simon let himself smile, just a little. "It’s what my soul had been crying out for all along, Father. Not for any belief; some disconnected deity or righteous cause. All those thoughts, the piercing pain of depression, he made it all go away. _He_ is what my soul needed along.”

Vicar Sinclair eyes softened toward him and he laid a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “So, what you’re saying is, love made you whole?”

Simon laughed in earnest, looking down into his lap. “Sounds like a song lyric, right?”

“It’s what we all spend our lives searching for, Simon. Nothing wrong with that. Do you know the book of Genesis very well?”

“Ye mean Adam and Eve?”

Oh Lord, he was not going to start with the homosexuality is a sin lecture? How God made women to be with man, not man to be with man. Simon had certainly heard all that before and knew well the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis.

“I was thinking more of Abraham being tested,” the vicar corrected.

“Then God said, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love – Isaac - and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you,” Simon recited from memory to the vicar’s surprise.

“Like I said, Father, I was brought up a Catholic. Unlike the Church of England, we have to actually _learn_ the Bible.” Simon gave the vicar a wink, before continuing, “He bound him and laid him on the altar, then reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. But the angel of the Lord called out to him from heaven and said, “Do not lay a hand on the boy, do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son.”

There was silence between the two men for a moment, until at length Vicar Sinclair spoke again.

“Most people believe that God was testing Abraham to see if he would actually kill his own son, as a test of his loyalty, but I don’t see it that way. I think He was trying to teach Abraham the value of love. Love for God Himself and love for his son by being forced to make an impossible decision between the two. God did not want a human sacrifice; that was for the Pagan deities. No, God was showing Abraham the things that were most important to him and teaching him how to make his soul whole.”

He squeezed Simon’s shoulder and stood up from the pew then. “Simon, God moves in mysterious ways, as I’m sure you already know.”

Simon could do little but nod back. He felt a little adrift all of a sudden. He had not gone into detail as to how he had come to save Kieren or more importantly what his original purpose was for him to be at that cemetery in the first place. In retrospect, Vicar Sinclair's final words seemed more apt than he could possibly know.

“Yes, He certainly does, Father.”

 

Simon did not know if that was what the Undead Prophet had intended all along. Perhaps by putting Kieren in danger, and while still thinking he was The First Risen, was the only way to ensure Simon would truly protect him?

When Julian had given him the bone cutter a second time, Simon had assumed it was for him to finish the job at a later date determined by them. But what if it was simply a weapon of protection? He had to find out.

What did the ULA want from him?

He was never going to harm Kieren, that was for certain and if they did want that, well he would sacrifice himself first. He would go to the camp site and confront Julian, it was the only way he could be sure.

His mind now made up, he opens the wardrobe doors, crouching down to reach behind Kieren’s empty suitcase that was stored on the floor at the front. After reaching around in the dark recesses his fingers finally touch upon the instrument case, and wrapping his hand around it he pulls it out, accidentally knocking over a shoebox he had not noticed hidden at the back.

The lid opened and the contents spilled onto the floor. Cursing, Simon bent to pick them up and put it back where it was stored, but something caught his eye.

They were mainly photos, some letters and a small white envelope with a ‘K’ and a circle around it. The postcard inside was partially poking out of the envelope and Simon pulls it out slowly to see a print of a Vincent Van Gogh self-portrait on it. He turned the card over before he even thought as to what he was doing. His eyes roaming over the hand written note, that read,

 

_Dear Ren,_

_Know this guy is your fave._

_You’re gonna go far._

_And I’ll be right there next to you, telling dumb jokes and embarrassing you._

_This shite with my Dad._

_I’ll sort it._

_Swear I will._

_Rick X_

 

Simon carefully replaces the card in the envelope and gathers the photographs up. They are all photos of Kieren and Rick Macy at different ages. In every one they are smiling and posing for the camera.

They are always close. Always happy. Always together.

And it hurts.

It really fucking hurts!

Simon knew about Rick, of course he knew. Amy had told him before he and Kieren even met. Kieren himself had even confided in him, but all with the pretense that it was in the past.

Rick was dead, after all - for the second time - and not like Amy. Bullets to the head, a knife through the back of the skull, there is no coming back from that. So why hide it?

Simon had approached the subject only days before. Kieren had said he was moving on, that it was over - he was over it – and that he was with Simon now, body and soul. And Simon had believed him.

Kieren had Simon’s body, his mind, his heart and his soul, but looking at what Kieren had tried to hide from him now, Simon wondered exactly what he really had of Kieren’s?

The pain coursed through his veins like a match to gasoline, exploding in his still heart and pounding on it as if willing it to beat. If it had, he would have ripped it from his chest in that very moment. He knew this feeling only too well, and it scared Simon to death, at the thought of going back there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this latest chapter is a week late, I’ve had a hectic time over the last fortnight and so squeezing in writing this chapter has been tricky. Anyway, thank you for all your comments, kudos and bookmarks and sticking with me so far.
> 
> The one thing I found fascinating with the introduction of Simon in series 2, was seeing a different side to Kieren. Dominic Mitchell stated that Simon and Kieren do not love each other quite yet -although I personally feel, reading the script and seeing the final episode of the second series, that Simon may have just got there by the Beating of the Bounds March. He also said that Simon is far more into Kieren than the other way around as Kieren only “fancied" Simon - where Emmett Scanlan was quoted in Gay Times as saying Simon was “infatuated with Kieren from the off.” This got me thinking that the very fact that Kieren makes a pass at Simon in the third episode of series 2, knowing how much Amy liked him (okay, so Simon is gay so she had no chance with him anyway, but that’s beside the point) he still risked hurting his best friend for nothing more than fancying someone. That’s quite ground breaking for Kieren, who always does the right thing and never acts selfishly. With that in mind, concealing certain aspects of himself from Simon I felt was something Kieren could therefore be capable of. Nobody is perfect, after all, as Henry Lonsdale pointed out.
> 
> So, what do we really know about Simon Monroe. To my thinking, not a lot. We have a pretty good handle on Kieren of course, being he’s the main character after all, and Amy is pretty much an open book. Even Rick, despite only appearing in two episodes we learn a lot about who he is, what makes him tick and his past. But we don’t know a huge amount about Simon’s past or who he really is deep down. We know he had depression and took the “A-Z of the periodic table” as a drug addict while he was still alive. We know he was the first to respond the Halperin & Weston’s drugs, and when he was rabid he came home and killed his mother which his father could not forgive him for. But really that is it, and it’s not much. Simon is such a complex character, which you can see in the series without the knowledge of hi back story, so I’m interested to find out exactly who he is. Emmett Scanlan usually plays a certain type of character. Often the anti-hero, but more often than not, a sociopath who sometimes comes good, sometimes not, going off the rails completely. His body of work is quite interesting as he does play a certain type. Could Simon also be this type? I’m not sure, but I do want to find out.
> 
> I’m also very torn between Simon and Rick as to who I think Kieren is best suited to. I watch series 2 and he and Simon just fit, but then I watch series 1 again and Kieren and Rick are Roarton’s answer to Romeo and Juliet. The first love tragic love story is very compelling, so I’m still on the fence. If Kieren doesn’t want Simon though, I’d be more than happy to take him off his hands!!
> 
> On a final note, well done everyone who supported the #SaveInTheFlesh campaign, looks like it made quite an impact. Fingers crossed the BBC take the hint and recommission In The Flesh for a third series.


	6. Counting Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, well not undead - more's the pity - so sorry this next chapter has taken so long, but it is an extra long one with scenes I have had to edit out due to the length. They will be appearing in the following chapters, which hopefully I will be posting soon.
> 
> I'm adding these notes to the beginning of the chapter instead of the end as I normally do, because I wanted to add a warning regarding possible suicide reference triggers. I'm sure if you're a fan of In The Flesh, you will already be aware that suicide features in the canon, but I wanted to highlight that it will be mentioned in detail in this chapter.
> 
> Only other thing of note is that I found an error in the series. Amy Dyer has two address according to the paperwork on her, shown on screen - so I decided to go for the address she apparently wrote in her own hand. Perhaps she was trying to fiddle her medication with the other address?
> 
> Thank you to all who have stuck with me and left comments and kudos. I have taken note of what readers wished to see with regards to character development and relationships and have attempted to include them all. So please do keep them coming and I'll do my best with that in the future.

Kieren was here, just then. Holding her hand. He was upset. Philip was with him. Where have they gone now?

Simon’s voice was saying something, or was that Philip again? Where are they? Where has everyone gone?

Something is not right.

Amy can feel there is something wrong. She feels strange. If only she could just think straight, but her brain feels fuzzy, like it is drowning in custard.

Or syrup. Maybe even honey? The runny sticky stuff her nan used to put on her toast for her. She loved it. That sickly sweet golden nectar that stuck to the corners of her lips and had her licking her fingers as it dripped down her hands.

But that is not right. She is all confused. Why can she not just think straight?

Her eyelids feel heavy and she keeps them tightly shut, afraid of opening them.

Fear? Yes, she feels fear. Fear of the unknown; fear of what is out there; fear that is all around her.

She is on her side. Was she not on her back only a moment ago?

“Amy?” A voice echoes in her subconscious, “Amy Dyer?”

Who is that?

She does not recognise the voice. Is it Dr Russo? He always gave her the creeps.

No, it is not Tom. This person has a softer voice. Has she heard it before? Maybe. But when?

“Amy, wake up now. It’s time for you to wake up,” the voice encourages.

She does not want to.

She can feel her consciousness pulling at the corners of her mind, but she tries to supress it. She feels cold. No, she feels sick.

She groans quietly.

“She might not ever wake, John,” another voice says. This one has a different accent. Sounds faintly like Liverpool.

“Now we’ve brought her out of the induced coma, she will, Victor. Her vital signs are good. Brain functions are normal and when she wakes up her cognitive responses should not be impaired.”

“Even so…”

“No, all her organs are functioning exactly how they should be. She’s breathing on her own now. Everything is working correctly; digestive system’s not been compromised, hormone levels are regular, and have you considered? She might even be able to have children? When she wakes up this is something we’ll be able to monitor. We will run tests. The data we can collect from this patient in unfathomable. Everything, _everything_ points towards a full recovery. It’s what we planned for.”

The voices are pulling her closer to the surface. She tries to hold on, tries to stay buried, but the harder she tries and faster the world rushes up to meet her.

Now her eyes are beginning to open of their own volition. She squeezes them shut, but still her eyelids part incrementally.

A bright light assaults her vision. It is so white and it burns her retinas. She feels a stab of pain in her head and groans again.

The first voice is still insistent.

“That’s it, you’re almost there.”

Her eyes are open now and she looks around with blurry vision and begins to scream.

 

\---

 

Kieren is asleep in their bedroom. He went straight to bed, exhausted as usual, after coming home from work at The Legion and so Simon is alone in the living room when he hears Amy’s cry.

He looks up abruptly. Snapping his head in the direction of her room where the sound came from.

It is doubtful Amy will have woken Kieren. These days when he finally manages sleep, Simon has noticed lying beside him that he sleeps like the dead, but he is still up on his feet and knocking on her door almost immediately regardless.

 

Despite wanting nothing more than to be close to him, to curl himself around Kieren and hold him protectively to him, Simon has stayed away. Questions of how welcome he really is laying next to him each night - of how far Kieren’s feelings differ from his own - plague his mind.

Simon tries to brush those thoughts aside.

It was the past and everyone is allowed his or her memories. It is the here and now that matters, and he will always be here for Kieren, no matter what.

But love is never logical and he simply cannot bring himself to join Kieren and sleep in their shared bed. Instead he stays up reading on the sofa. His seat is uncomfortable underneath him, with lumpy stuffing cushions and worn springs, but his discomfort helps to further distract him as he attempts to occupy both his time and mind to wile the night away.

He has chosen an old battered copy of ‘The Alchemist’, one of the few personal items he brought with him from the commune. The magical fable he has long cherished, about learning to listen to your heart, reading the omens strewn along life's path, and above all, to follow your dreams, does little to comfort him tonight.

 

Simon lowers his head to Amy’s door, listening for a response as he taps gently. All he can make out are her muffled sobs, but little else. Instinctively, he presses down on the door handle and enters her room, closing it quietly behind him.

The room is dark, but he knows its layout well. Unseeing, he moves around the bed and turns on the bedside lamp. He can see plainly that she is still unconscious, in the dark depths of her sleep ridden mind, and sitting on the side of her bed he holds her face still from tossing violently from side to side as her body convulses and arms flail, while her dream continues to assault her. Gradually she comes to and her eyelids snap open in an instant.

“Amy? Amy! It’s okay. You’re here now. You’re fine.”

Her startled eyes are wide and she bolts upright, reaching for him to bury her face in his shoulder as he holds her tightly.

Reassuring strokes of her loose hair, wild and beautiful and cascading down her back like a chocolate waterfall, sooth her a little while he whispers words of comfort.

“You’re okay, it was just a dream, Amy. I’ve got ye now.”

Her breathing slows as she relaxes against him.

“You’re safe, I’m here. You’re home now.”

After a moment Amy pulls away from him, leaning back against the headboard. She wipes the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hands.

“Just a stupid dream, I’m fine. Sorry I woke yer,” she apologises, putting on a brave smile for his benefit.

“S’okay, I was up anyways,” he says, giving her one of his oh-so-familiar lopsided smiles, and she is reminded of how things were between them when they were still living at the commune and when they first arrived at Roarton together. A time when apart from Kieren, he was all she had in the whole world.

She squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her forehead as if trying to rub away the ruminants of the dream from her mind.

“Must be a side effect from this new medication I’m on.”

Simon takes her face in his hands, smoothing away the odd rogue strand of hair from her temples and inspects her closely. He knows her too well and can tell when she is hiding something.

“Was it about Norfolk, Amy?” he asks gently.

His own experiences had left him with nightly terrors after leaving the treatment centre, replaying the experiments carried out on him every time he closed his eyes. He was the first to respond to the Halperin & Weston drugs and Amy could well have been the first to evolve from Partially Deceased to Re-alive, so John Weston and Victor Halperin were more than likely to have made the same offer to her as they did to him. He could not bear the thought of Amy going through the ordeals he was subjected to.

“What did they do to ye?” Simon presses, moving his hand to cup underneath her jaw, pulling it up to make her look at him so he can read her more clearly.

“Nothing! Look Mr Disciple, I’m fine. Really,” she protests, batting his hand away. “Honestly, you’ve always been such a fusspot!”

He frowns at her, unconvinced, but painfully aware how stubborn Amy can be when she puts her mind to it. Very much like Kieren, in actual fact. There must have been something in the water of Roarton Valley when they were growing up.

Shaking her head slightly to fully dislodge his grasp, Simon concedes defeat. For now, at least.

“Anyways, that’s Ex-Mr Disciple now,” he corrects, keeping his voice low and handing her an opportunity to change the subject if she so wishes, which he expects she does. “A few things have changed since you’ve been away.”

She stares at him and he thinks she is going to ask him to explain, but instead she says, “Yer got that tobacco on yer?”

Well that was completely left field. “Sure, why?”

Amy gets up and reaches for her silk kimono dressing gown, shrugging it on and tying the belt around her waist as Simon watches in silence. She smiles mischievously at him, as if she has a master plan, although for what he cannot fathom.

“Will yer roll me one?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but she beats him to it.

“Come on, it’s a clear night tonight, I want to see those stars yer were always telling me about.”

She is out of the room and heading for the front the door before he is able to respond and Simon is left sitting on her bed, gaping after her - the whirlwind otherwise known as Amy Dyer.

 

It is cold outside and now Amy can feel differences in temperature, she shivers and pulls the thin silk more tightly around her body.        

“Ye want me to get ye a coat?” Simon asks as he rolls her a cigarette and licks down the length of the Rizla paper to seal it. He hands it to her before starting on his own.

She shakes her head. There is something comforting about just being able to feel the cold again after so long of feeling nothing.

“Okay,” he agrees and she knows he understands why.

Amy takes the roll up from him and plays with it in her fingers until he holds up the lighter for her, lighting it and the small flame reflects a bright glow on to her cheeks.

“I never really smoked before, but to hell with it, why not?” she explains, putting it to her lips. “Ta. Last count, it was two to me, null points to the Grim Reaper.”

She inhales deeply and then quickly coughs out the smoke, coughing hard and gasping for breath.

“Might need a bit of practice though,” she splutters.

Simon says nothing, just lights his own and sucks on the end to take a deep bloom of thick smoke down into his lungs. He looks up to the sky, tracing the line of stars that make up Orion’s Belt. She follows his gaze and he points out a few of the constellations to her. If he were not in love with her best friend, she would think it was totally romantic.

Amy takes another drag, this time managing to hold it in for a moment longer, before choking again.

Simon watches her bemused.

“Jesus, Amy. What are ye trying to do, give him a chance to even up the score with ye?”

“Nah, it’s just, well,” she shrugs.

She has not ever admitted this out loud to anyone before, but there is something about sitting with Simon in the quiet street, outside and alone with him in the dark, that gives her the courage to continue.

“Yer see, when I was alive, the first time I mean, I never really had a chance to live. Like, _really_ live. I was always in and out of hospital for as long as I could remember and didn’t have a chance to do anything, really.”

She thinks back to those lonely days and her heart contacts at the memory.

“It was always difficult making friends, no one wants to be mates with the Chemo girl when you’re a kid and I just kinda missed out on all the stuff yer get up to when you’re growing up.”

Amy sits down on the step where they sat earlier that morning and Simon follows suit.

“Life can be a bitch that way, that’s for sure,” he agrees. Simon’s own experiences while alive had more than taught him that.

“Yeah, but this time around, I’m not going to miss out on anything. I’m going to do _everything!_ I’m going to try as much as I can, experience it all. This time, it’s going to be different. Life is for living and I’m going to make sure I damn well live it.”

She taps the ash from the end of the roll up and puts it to her lips for a third time. The result is more coughing and she looks down at it as if it has insulted her personally.

“Well, tried that then,” she says, stubbing it out on the concrete beneath her feet. “That’s one thing ticked off the list. Don’t think it’s really for me though. Being high on life is probably going to be my poison.”

“Is that so?” Simon asks, trying his best to look like he believes her.

She grins back at him. “Or maybe just vodka?”

Simon cannot help but smile at his friend. He really has missed her.

“Trust me, lot worse things out there than vodka.”

“Whiskey?”

“Only if it’s American or Scotch. Irish whiskey; now that I _do_ miss.”

They continue to talk for a long while. They talk the way they used to at the commune, in the days before Roarton - and before Kieren. She teases him and he tells her about all sorts of things she does not know. His depth of knowledge is profound and she enjoys just listening to him talk, the deep rich tones of his accent wrapping around every syllable as he speaks. She has always learnt so much from him. Literature, history, philosophy, religion and tonight astronomy; Amy is always riveted and astonished. She never remembers teachers at her old girl’s grammar school ever making things as interesting as Simon can make the most mundane of subjects.

“Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning. That was always more my sorta thing. I always wanted to be Wendy. Meet Peter Pan and The Lost Boys. To never grow up and never grow old. Guess that was one dream that came true at least,” she sighs.

“The perfect example of life imitating art, I guess. Every culture, every region has its legends, its fables. Many of them about the night sky, the moon and the stars.”

“Tell me one, then?”

“I’m not one for fairy tales, Amy.”

“Oh go on, just one. Bet yer have loads stashed away in that ol’ noggin of yours?”

“Okay, I’ll tell ye one. Ye ever seen the Northern Lights?”

Amy shakes her head. “Nope. Never really visited anywhere. Well, apart from the Lake District.”

Simon takes another drag of his roll up. He blows out the white smoke in one single straight line before finally extinguishing it and Amy huddles closer to him as he begins the story.

“Okay, so to the King of the skies was born a daughter. So beautiful she was, she even made the Moon envious.”

“Yer mean all white with cratered, mottled skin?” Amy giggles as Simon raises a single eyebrow at her in response. “Sorry, carry on. I won’t interrupt again.”

He looks doubtfully at her, but continues on.

“The King raised her the best he knew how, with all the love and kindness that he could, so she would become a proper princess and be the person everyone expected her to be. He made many plans for the future he imagined her to have, but despite all his best efforts, the princess fell in love with wild dancing. She would put on an emerald dress with flowing ribbons of light and go off and dance her way into the night.”

“Yer know, I think I have a dress just like that.”

“Yes, I imagine ye probably do. Now stop interrupting, or don’t ye want to hear the rest of it?”

Amy looks solemnly at him and mouths, “sorry”, before Simon carries on for a third time.

“Watching her beauty, many a Star fell for her and as the princess and her admirers grew, so did the King’s anguish as he could not bear to watch a royal princess be seen dancing in public. So upset he became with her defiance of all that he valued, the King put forth a hard choice for the princess. She could either give up dancing to be like every other royal there had ever been and settle down by marrying the suitor he had in mind for her, or be banished for life to the edge of the Earth.”

“What a misery guts!” Amy huffed, totally engrossed in the story and more than a little outraged. “Hope she told him where to go?”

“Yeah, she did, and to this day ye can see her dancing in the skies of the northern hemisphere and watch the Stars falling, all for her. Not many people have experienced her beauty, but it is said, those who have are changed forever.”

“And those are the Northern Lights?” she sighs in wonder. “Have yer ever seen them?”

The corners of Simon’s lips curl fractionally at the question and he nods. “Yeah, I think I might. And I can tell ye it does; it changes ye forever.”

“So come on, what’s the moral of the story then? Yer know every fable has a moral behind it.”

“The point is every choice has its trade-off, but it’s easy to choose if your priorities are clear.”

Amy shakes her head in awe. “I like that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Simon’s priorities had never been clearer to him than they were now, but the fable was right, every choice had a trade-off.

“Simon,” Amy whispers, not wishing to break the spell the story had cast upon them both. “Who are yer talking about, really?”

“It’s just a story, Amy.”

They sit in silence for a while. Perhaps thinking about those Northern Lights, or maybe just thinking about those falling Stars, until Amy breaks the silence once again. It was not in her nature to remain quiet for long.

“I was amazed by yer when we first met, yer know? Handsome and a genius, what more could a girl ask for? Bet yer didn’t know all the girls in the commune fancied yer? They were dead jealous of me when we got sent to Roarton together and not just because I was picked for the mission.”

As if he did not know? Still, Simon feigns ignorance.

“Is that so?”

“Have to say, I did wonder if yer were my Mr Right back then. Not sure I’d of introduced yer to Kieren had I known he was going to steal yer off me.”

Simon puts his arms around her. He can feel her shiver from the night air and knows his own body temperature will do little to warm her.

Amy sighs dramatically. “And now, here yer are, the beau of my BDFF. I guess that makes yer my BDFF-in-law now?”

“The undead aren’t allowed to get married, Amy,” Simon points out, but she does not want to talk about PDS rights right now. She is trying to lead up to something else.

And it is difficult, because at one point she did think she was falling for Simon, just like those Stars he described. Just like he did for Kieren. Ridiculous as she feels now - knowing what she does - but back then, other than Kieren, he was the only person who ever took the time to get to know her and she loved him from the off for of it.

Blurting it out in a rush was not was she was planning on doing, but plasters are better ripped off quickly.

“Do yer love him?” It got to the heart of the matter of what was on her mind, so she guessed it was as good a way as any to bring it up.

He nods without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

Three little words. Yes. I. Do.

They did not seem to accurately convey just how much he loved the bones of Kieren Walker, but they would have to do - for this conversation at least.

Amy cannot help but smile at his response. Her reaction surprised her, but two of the people she loved the most, loving each other? That is what she always wanted, right? Okay, so she always figured it would be a different kind of love - and that she would be there somewhere in the mix - but she had Philip now and Simon and Kieren had each other. So really, it was more than she could have ever dared to hope for.

“And does he love you?”

Simon’s answer is a long time coming and his voice is quiet when he finally speaks.

“Kieren, he’s…” What could he say? He opts for the simplest answer; the most honest answer he can give, “I hope so.”

The nature of Simon’s reply does not go unnoticed and Amy wants to say something more, but there is something in his expression that stops her.

“Well, I’m happy for yer both,” she says, switching back to the cheery and carefree Amy, while snuggling a little closer to him. “Truly, I am. Yes, at one point or another I might have lined you both up as the future Mr Dyer, but I’m glad the two of yer found each other.”

He smiles and lays the briefest of kisses on her forehead, but says nothing more.

“You’re good for him and he’s good for you,” she goes on. Then, as if suddenly having an epiphany, “Hey, maybe I could be the next Cilla Black? Yer know, like the undead’s answer to Blind Date?”

“Great idea. Only there’s a small flaw in your plan there, Amy. You’re not undead anymore.”

"So? Can yer imagine? _What’s your name and what cemetery d’ya come from?"_ she croons, putting on her best Scouse Cilla accent, “ _But, look what Redeemed yer turned down? Here’s our Graham, with a quick reminder._ ”

They both laugh, the time for serious discussion past, and it feels good to just forget about everything for a while.

“Think I could be onto something there, don’t you?”

Simon stands up, offering her his hand and pulling her up too to escort her inside and into the warm.

“Honestly? I think that’s one thing that should remain dead and buried.”

“Yer no fun, you. _Ex-_ Mr Disciple,” she complains as she lets him lead her into the bungalow by the hand. “Nope, just doesn’t feel right.”

Simon quietly closes the door behind them.

“What doesn’t?”

“Can’t call yer, Ex-Mr Disciple. Not really the same ring to it, so what am I gonna call you now then? Yer know, I think that’s going to take some serious thought!”

 

\---

 

Simon is inspecting Amy’s new medication suspiciously in the kitchen, holding the golden liquid to the light, while she makes her morning coffee.

Apart from the colour, everything about it is identical to Neurotriptyline; the Halperin & Weston glass bottle it comes in; the injector it is administered from; even the area of the spine it is injected into.

“What does this,” he squints at the name printed on the side, “Replamotrexate, do exactly?”

“Oh, I can’t remember the ins and outs of it. Never were good a science at school, me, but Doctor Khan said the basic gist of is, it stops me from reverting back to a partially deceased state.”

“The Re-Alive equivalent of Neurotriptyline. They certainly came up with that quickly. Still, I guess if there’s a market for it; money to be made.”

“Yeah, s’pose,” Amy shrugs, somewhat disinterested.

“Ye remember anything else Doctor Khan told ye about it?”

“Only that it balances out cell division and mi-cro-tu-bule or something.” She says ‘microtubule’ slowly, accentuating each syllable carefully to ensure she is pronouncing it right.

Amy sits down with her coffee already half drunk, as Kieren comes into the kitchen still wearing his pyjama bottoms and the t-shirt he slept in. He looks tired like he did not sleep well.

“Morning,” Amy says brightly. She is about to make a sarcastic comment about the ‘very sexy sleep attire’ he has go on there, but instead when she sees at him, says, “God yer look awful, hun!”

“Cheers for that, Amy.” Kieren looks down at Simon who has not so much as turned his head, let alone wished him a good morning. “Did yer come to bed last night?”

Simon glances up at Kieren and then looks back at the Replamotrexate bottle he still has in his hands. “Wasn’t tired, so.”

Kieren waits for Simon to say more, but he is less than forthcoming.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower. Can yer give me my Neurotriptyline shot first though?”

“I’ll do it,” Amy says, getting the injector and vacating her seat opposite Simon, which Kieren then occupies.

“You okay?” he asks. Simon seems a little off this morning.

Simon nods, keeping his eyes on the table in front of him as Amy comes back and reaches for Kieren’s collar. He leans his elbows on the table and looks straight down, preparing himself as she presses the injector to the hole at the top of his spine. Without making direct eye contact Simon watches him as Amy pulls back the trigger with her forefinger to administer the dose and the liquid whooshes as it hits the point between his vertebras.

Kieren squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain as it courses through his body. It is getting worse and trying to conceal the involuntary convulsing of his body directly after his medication is administered is getting harder. He lets out a soft cry and Simon is up on his feet, about to go to Kieren, before he even registers he is doing so.

“That normally happen?” Amy asks with concern, rubbing his shoulder as the tremors begin to subside.

Kieren looks up at Amy and smiles as if it is nothing, purposely keeping his eyes away from Simon’s gaze. “Only sometimes.”

Simon sits back down and Kieren knows another question is coming from Amy, so he is up and out of the chair before she has chance to ask it.

“I’m off for a shower then. Thanks Amy.”

He is out of the room before either of them can say anything further.

“Don’t use up all the hot water, boiler’s playing up again I see. Need to get that fixed,” Amy calls out, but Kieren has already shut the bathroom door behind him.

Amy huffs and turns her attention to Simon instead.

“Simon?” she asks in a voice that promises a question that she knows he might not want to answer.

“Yes?”

“What Kieren was saying, just then? _Is_ there something wrong?”

Simon takes her now empty mug and goes to the sink to pour the remaining dregs away, before hitting the switch on the new kettle Amy had bought to make her another. He stares out of the window for a while, looking down through the valley and Amy wonders if he is going to answer her at all.

“Ye remember when ye told me about Rick Macy before we came here?”

“Yes.”

Amy had told Simon all about Kieren and Rick, and Bill Macy too - and what had happened before she left for the commune. She had never spoken to Kieren about his relationship with Rick, but it was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes in their nogs what was going on there. Or rather, what was not going on between Kieren and Rick, but what should have been.

“Told yer, I only met him the once. Seemed like a right dickhead though, if I’m honest. Way too worried about what people thought of him. Drinking down The Legion with his HVF mates, laughing when that prize tosser Gary took the piss out of Kieren. Didn’t like that. If yer ask me, I have no idea what he saw in him and I told him so at the railway station just before I left.”

Simon remains standing with his back to her. He is quiet, but she could tell he was taking in every word.

“Just made excuses for him of course. That’s Dopey though for yer, in’t it? Said it was all an act he put on for his dad. But I’ve seen blokes like him before and they never change. Kieren thought he would of course, ever the optimist, but then he was totally besotted with him.”

She remembers back to the night at The Legion; the look on Kieren’s face when he saw Rick again for the first time. They had stood staring at each other in the segregated area of the pub, Amy on one side of Kieren and Philip on the other. She suspected the reunion might have been a little less formal had they not both been there to witness it.

“Yer should have seen the way he looked at him though, like…”     

Simon turns to face her, leaning back on the kitchen counter. His expression is unreadable.

“Sorry, probably shouldn’t have mentioned that bit. Not the best thing to say. He being,” she continues on in a singsong tone to cover the awkwardness, “your beloved’s ex and all.”

Simon shakes his head. His hands are pressed down into his pockets, his shoulder hunched. “It’s part of Kieren’s life. No sense in pretending otherwise.”

 

Kieren is glad to be away from Amy and Simon in the state he is in. The tremors have subsided a little, but there is no doubt about the fact they are getting worse. Much worse. And not just when he was administered his medication. His hands shook of their own accord, several times during the day, for long periods and he had been getting a pins-and-needles sensation down both his legs and feet. Kieren was even beginning to feel hungry too. He was sure he caught his stomach rumbling a day or two ago.

His hands are still shaking as he turns the taps on and pulls the knob up on the bath, so the water runs through the showerhead instead. He has been getting some sense of touch back and could now determine a little of the temperature. It is hard after all to get the water right when you cannot feel and had spent half his showers under freezing cold water or boiling hot.

Kieren pulls his t-shirt over his head and shrugs off his pyjama bottoms, laying down the bath mat to step in under the spray of the shower. Hopefully it will wake him up a bit as he feels so tired this morning, having woken several times in the night to find Simon not there next to him. He had got used to his presence beside him at night all too quickly and felt bereft of that sense of security when sleeping alone.

Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he is about to step into the bath when he stops dead.

He notices his hands. They are covered in black bile.

Turning towards the mirror, he gazes at his reflection...

And passes out.

Simon and Amy do not hear the thud as Kieren hits the bathroom floor.

 

The water is boiling in the kitchen and Simon spoons the instant coffee into the mug along with two sugars, just the way Amy likes it. Reaching for the kettle, he stirs the mixture as he fills up the mug. Amy remains silent as he adds milk and then sets it down in front of her, taking up his chair once again.

“Simon Monroe, yer never struck me as the jealous type?”

Jealous? That surprises him. He did not know he was the jealous type either, but then he had never cared enough about anything to be jealous over.

“We all have our insecurities.”

“So?”

All of a sudden, Simon really does not want to talk about this.

“So, it’s nothing. Nothing for ye to worry about, anyway.” Better to bury the feelings, as there was nothing he could do about them anyway - or Kieren’s come to that.

“Look I don’t know what’s going on, but don’t let ghosts of the past ruin things between yer. Rick’s gone, and sure, he might have been Kieren’s first love, but that doesn’t mean he has to be the love of his life. The person who defines him, that role’s still up for grabs!”

She thinks back to that night.

“I met Philip when I went with Kieren to The Legion to find Rick. Hated him. Phillip I mean, not Rick. Well both actually, now you mention it. And look at us now?”

 

\---

 

Kieren is running late. He had spent what seemed to Simon like an eternity in the shower, but Simon did not feel like going to village hall without him.

Amy, now not being PDS, did not have to participate in the Give Back Scheme anymore and for that he was grateful.

“Here comes Brokeback Mountain,” Gary calls out as they walk through the village hall entrance, arriving for the day’s Give Back humiliation. “You two are late. _Again_.”

“Fuck off, Gary,” Kieren snaps back. He is really not in the mood for Gary’s crap this morning.

“Have to go on the report. Twenty-one Rott… _Give Back workers_ ,” he corrects quickly, noticing Philip’s eyes on him, “And yer two are always the last ones in.”

“Whatever.”

Simon is directly behind Kieren now, giving Gary daggers. He looks about ready to start a fight if he carries on at Kieren.

Philip decides to intervene. It would look far worse on the report if this turned ugly, not to mention the earache Amy would give him for allowing Simon and Kieren to get into trouble.

Having Amy now has given him a newfound confidence and he is not going to be that ‘Lippy’ he used to be known as at school. Not anymore.

“Well they’re here now, Gary, so suggest you and Dean get on with it.” And just for extra clout, he added, “Pronto.”

“I was just…”

“You were just wasting time, so I’d appreciate it if yer would just get on with the job at hand please, otherwise plenty more out there would be happy to do it in yer place.”

Both Kieren and Simon look impressed by Philip’s sudden assertiveness. Gary does not look so pleased, but the authority in his voice warns him not to push it further.

They all take a seat, while Philip and Gary join Dean at the front of the hall. They go through their register and start delegating jobs for the day.

“Simon Monroe and Kieren Walker?” Dean calls out, looking up from his clipboard. Both men raise their hands to show that they are in attendance. As if Dean had not noticed already.

“Right,” Dean continues, squinting at the sheet in front of his eyes and holding it up a little closer to focus on it. “You’re on graffiti clean-up detail. That’ll be all the spray paint on the bus shelter and that.”

Kieren rolls his eyes, while Simon stares at Dean with undisguised loathing as if he is still more than ready to attack him at any moment. Dean must have noticed, as he clears his throat uncomfortably before giving them further instructions on their duties for the day.

“Anyway, yer got a list of places for today. Here,” he says, taking a printed out sheet of paper from his clipboard and leaning over to give it to one of the PDS Sufferers in the front row to hand back to them, “It’s all there.”

Kieren takes the paper from the person in front of him and scrutinizes the list of locations. Simon glances at it with disinterest, his arms still folded tightly in front of his chest.

Dean takes a breath to read out the next name and the next set of instructions, when Kieren interrupts.

“Err, hang on. Have yer seen how many places are on this list? We’re never going to get through all these in just one day. One of them is right out in the woods, it’ll take us a couple of hours just to walk there and back.”

“So? Yer just do what’s left the day afters, don’t yer? Got loads more for yer after that lot anyway, so yer will be well practiced by the end of it. Be able to get them done in no time.”

Kieren shakes his head and huffs loudly, following Simon’s posture and folds his arms indignantly until ‘class’ is dismissed.

 

\---

 

The first location on the list is the bus shelter in the centre of the village. It is a short walk from the village hall, but even in the five minutes it has taken Kieren and Simon to reach it, Kieren is painfully aware of tension between them. He steels a sideward glance at Simon, wondering if maybe it is just his imagination, but he just keeps his head down, eyes fixed on his boots as he keeps walking.

As soon as they arrive, Simon gets on with cleaning the spray paint off the glass almost immediately. They have been given cleaning fluid and a couple of buckets and brushes each for the task, and he begins scrubbing at the bright red letters spelling out VICTUS FRAUDS on the far side of the shelter. Ironic really, given that the Give Back Scheme was thought up by the Victus party, but especially as it is one message both men would happily leave on permanent display. Kieren makes a start on the more artistic penis illustrations on the back glass.

“Pass me that, will ye?” Simon asks Kieren, gesturing toward one of the two 5 litre bottles of solution they brought with them. On the side of the container the words GRAFFITOFF SOLUTIONS are emblazed on the side, and on the other, a very large chemical hazard symbol. Kieren notices that neither of them has been issued with protective gloves. Not that they need them, as the chemicals will not have any ill effects on their partially deceased skin.

The simple request is the first thing Simon has said to Kieren since they left the bungalow this morning. It is not exactly a love sonnet, but it is a start, at least.

Kieren picks up the bottle and unscrews the lid for him, handing it over to Simon so he can refill the bucket by his feet.

“Simon, really is there something up? It’s just…” How to put this? He did not seem in the greatest of moods, so best to tread carefully - especially as he has been on the receiving end of Simon’s anger once before and would rather avoid it a second time around. “It’s just you’ve been acting… I dunno.”

Simon stops what he is doing and glares at Kieren through the wet glass. He does not look happy and gestures “what?” for Kieren to continue.

“A bit, well… weird, actually,” Kieren finishes. Possibly not the best choice of words, all things considered.

Simon resumes focusing on the cleaning and does not look at Kieren again as he answers, “Nothing’s up with me.”

“Really? Yer sure?” Because you could have fooled me.

“Like I said, I’m fine, Kieren. Alright?”

Simon sounds agitated. It is not like him. He is almost always calm, no matter how stressful the situation. In fact, the only person he has noticed that can get him rattled like this is Kieren himself.

“Alright. S‘long as we’re okay?”

Kieren dunks his brush into his bucket and starts removing the name of who ‘Jamie Loves’ - whoever Jamie is.

“We’re okay,” Simon agrees, although it sounds to Kieren’s ears like they are anything but.

Yes there was definitely something up.

 

Kieren has moved on to the other side of the shelter and is working on ‘PDS Game Over’, while mulling over possible reasons for Simon’s mood, when a car pulls up next to them. It is an old mini in that seventies muddy putty colour and looks like its best days are behind it. The driver’s door opens and a tall man, in his late twenties who seems far too big for the vehicle, unfolds himself as he clambers out.

“Excuse me?” he calls over to Kieren and Simon, leaning on the roof of the car. “Don’t happen to know where Conyers Road is, do yer?”

Kieren looks to Simon who says nothing. He begins to wonder if he is just being paranoid as Simon’s silence clearly is not exclusive to him.

“Yeah,” Kieren tells him, “Go on up the hill, past the playground and carry on over the bridge. Take a left and it’s the turning on yer right.”

“Ta. Must have driven straight past it.”

He turns to get back into the car and then pauses as if having second thoughts.

“Sorry, one another thing?” Kieren nods for him to go on. “Yer know an Amy Dyer, at all?”

Kieren is about to answer when Simon catches his attention and stares at him stonily, before shaking his head in warning so fractionally, Kieren wonders if he imagined it. But to any onlooker, they may well think he was just deferring the answer, not knowing it himself.

Simon shakes his head properly now, giving a good impression of trying to think if he has heard the name before.

“No mate, sorry, can’t say that rings any bells.” He looks at Kieren, who appears a little startled, but recovers quickly.

He shakes his head too. “Can’t be any help on that score, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, no worries, thanks anyway,” the stranger says, before folding himself back into the car and driving toward Conyers Road - and the street Kieren and Simon live. Not that he needed to know that.

They both watch as the car disappears down the road.

“What was that all about?” Kieren asks Simon, confused by what had just taken place.

“Dunno, but if ye don’t know him and I don’t know him, ye can bet ye life, Amy don’t know him either.”

 

More than two hours must have passed with them both putting more than a little elbow grease into ridding the bus shelter of the copious amount of graffiti. The majority of the time they had passed had been in silence.

Kieren knows he should leave things alone, let Simon get over whatever was eating away at him, but he cannot let it lie.

“So, just to be clear then, it’s nothing to do with that stuff with me dad?”

“Oh, we’re on this again, are we? How many times, Kieren? Everything’s fine.”

“Because, I just wondered…”

“Ye just wondered what, exactly?”

“That maybe it might have brought things back. Things between you and _your_ dad.”

“Ye don’t know what you’re taking about.”

“Don’t I?”

“No, ye don’t. Me dad and me, we didn’t have some falling out, because he didn’t approve of who I took to bed. What I did; it’s not something ye get over it in time.”

“Yer don’t know that. He might do. Yer came home in your untreated state. Yer didn’t know what yer were doing. It wasn’t your fault!”

“And ye believe that do ye? All those things ye did before? The people ye killed; ye can forgive yeself for them can ye? Because from where I’m standing, Kieren, isn’t doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Well at least I’m trying. Yer could at least _try_? Why don’t yer just go and see him? I’ll come with yer if that’ll make things easier?”

That seemed to stop Simon in his tracks. He looked stunned for want of a better word.

“You’d do that?”

“Course I would.”

At that very moment a bus pulls up. A few locals disembark, most of which pretend they have not seen Simon and Kieren working in their orange bibs. They each pass them by without saying a word, making their way to wherever they are going next.

“Hey, yer missed a bit,” Jem says, poking her head around the side of the bus shelter. “So what’s up, scrubbers?”

Jem is clad in a pair of skinny jeans, fitted leather jacket and heeled boots. It is a far cry from the old Jem, who would not be seen dead without her combats, army issue boots and her Colt revolver. Kieren notices how happy she is. Why do you only ever notice when people are happy when you are not? Jem is practically bouncing around this morning and after what she has been through; he will not begrudge her that. Today is obviously a good day for her - and for that, he is glad.

“You’re in a good mood. Jem, what are yer doing back here so early? Aren’t yer meant to be at school? Mum and dad will have a fit if they catch yer skiving.”

“On study leave, aren’t I? Got time off as meant to be revising for me GCSE exams next month. Remember, dickhead?”

“Oh yeah.” Kieren had forgotten with everything else that had been going on lately. “Going well then?”

“Boring as fuck. Still, Matt’s coming over later to help me with some sciencey stuff, so that’s a bonus.”

Matt is coming over to help Jem revise? Kieren cannot believe his parents feel for that one. Still, she is twenty now, a grown adult with the right to do what she wants.

“So would that be biology _sciencey stuff?”_ Kieren asks with a smirk.

Jem wrinkles her nose. “Oi! Kier, that’s well rank.”

He laughs at her indignant expression. “So, yer off home now, to swat up?”

“Meant to be, if I can be arsed,” she says, sitting down on the shelter bench, not looking like she is going anywhere in a hurry. “I could use some help going through some of those texts for English Lit, Si, if you’re up for helping me again?”

Two of the works she has been studying for English Literature are Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird and the play DNA by Dennis Kelly. Simon helped her with her essays during the term. Kieren had watched them both in the evenings after school, from her bedroom door, until she told him to “piss off” and “go bother mum and dad instead.”

“Tell ye what? I’ll help ye with your exam revision, if ye do me a favour before ye head off home?”

Jem narrows her eyes suspiciously. It was unlike Simon to ask for anything in return. “What sorta favour?”

Simon nods his head towards the hill and Conyers Road. “Ye go visit Amy for us?”

“It’s true then, about her being back? What yer want me to see her for? I know I went to her funeral, but we weren’t exactly what yer call bestest friends.”

“Just want ye to check on her, is all. Yeah?”

“Okay, but only for you,” Jem smiles, and for a second there Kieren wonders if Jem is flirting with Simon, but then she continues, “And only because yer gonna help me get an A* in English Lit.”

 

\---

 

Jem has only been to the bungalow a couple of times before, but she remembers well enough where it is. She passes a dilapidated mini that is parked on the opposite side of the road and walks up the pathway to the bungalow, knocking on the door.

“Jemima Walker! Now this _is_ a surprise,” Amy exclaims in mock shock, as she answers the door. “Yer know Kieren isn’t here? He’s on the Roarton chain gang today, otherwise known as The Give Back Scheme, with Simon.”

“Yeah, I’ve just seen them. I was looking for you, actually.” Amy just frowns at her.

“Si asked I come up and see yer,” Jem clarifies.

Amy’s frown deepens; giving a good display of an expression that was the product of confused and suspicious breeding with each other.

“Why?”

“Dunno,” Jem shrugs. She is still in a good mood and getting wound up is not on her agenda today, so she leans in towards Amy, as if she has a secret to share, “He can be a bit weird sometimes.”

Amy laughs in good-humoured outrage. She knew Jem would warm up to her eventually.

“Hey, that’s yer brother’s other half, yer talking about there.”

“Don’t yer mean better half?”

Both women smile and the ice seems to thaw between them.

“Loving the boots you’re rockin’ there, by the way,” Amy says, encouraged by the idea of making a new friend in the village.

Things seem to be going well and Jem is pleased by the compliment.

“Ta.”

Amy is just about to ask her in when someone coughs behind Jem and they both turn to look at him. Neither recognised the man, but both automatically look him up and down, sizing him up.

“Is either one of you, Amy Dyer? Was told she lives at this address,” he asks.

Amy opens her mouth to speak, but Jem is the one who answers.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Karl Richardson, I’m from the Roarton Gazette,” he says, offering his hand, which neither of them takes.

Amy finds her voice, “What do yer want Amy Dyer for?”

“Got a tip off that she’s what Halperin & Weston are calling Re-Alive. Came back a Roarton Riser, died again, and now back for a third time. Could even be one of the first to come back in the Re-Alive state, so wanted to ask her a few questions, like. Get a picture for the paper, give her a chance to tell her side of the story.”

Alarm bells are ringing in both women’s ears and they stand together united, both on the defensive.

“Why would she want to do that for a local fish paper like the Roarton Gazette? Not exactly OK! Magazine, is it?” Jem scoffs.

The journalist is unflustered. Gets this seven days a week no doubt.

“We’ll pay. Lots of folk out there want to know what this Re-Alive is exactly. Amy’s a local, would be in the community spirit to give us an interview.”

Jem gives him a sour smile. “Sorry, Amy did come back PDS and died last year. If yer want an interview, suggest yer go down to Roarton cemetery.”

He knows one of them is Amy Dyer, but in his rush to get the scoop, he had not done any research as to what she looks like. He knows he is on a hiding to nothing if neither of them will come clean.

“So, neither of yer have seen her then?”

“Like she said,” Amy pipes up, “Haven’t seen her, so if yer know what’s good for yer, I suggest yer do one, before I call yer editor and tell ‘em you’re harassing women.”

“Alright, love.” He is backing off now. “Look I’m just trying to do me job here.”

It is at times like this that Jem wishes she still had her Colt on her.

“Yeah, well yer can fuck off right now then and do it somewhere else.”

They both watch as he heads towards his car and slams the door shut as he gets in. It is a surprise that it does not fall off its hinges, the amount of rust on it. Obviously, this journalist is in desperate need of a good story for the cash.

He drives off and neither says a word to each other until he is safely down the road. He pulls away into the main street and the tyres of the old mini squeal as he goes.

“Go, you!” Amy laughs, “Do yer think he believed us?”

“Probably not.”

Amy opens the door wide for Jem in order to let her pass.

“Better come in then quick, before he changes his mind.”

 

\---

 

As predicted the list of places to get through on the sheet they were given is too much to get through working together. The cleaning chemical fluid supplied has not made the job of removing the graffiti an easy one and it has taken time to clean all the spray paint off glass and brickwork. Their work will no doubt be inspected in the morning and the threat of non-compliance is ever present in the minds of all Give Back participants.

It is well past three o’clock in the afternoon now and if they do not hurry to get through the remaining two locations, they will start to lose the light. The clocks are yet to change to British Summer Time and the evenings still draw in early.

Simon and Kieren decide by mutual agreement to split up in order to cover more ground and finish their task for the day. It is not like they are enjoying each other’s company anyway at the moment. Not like they usually do.

Recently it had not mattered what they had been doing, as long as they were together, everything was all right. But today, Kieren has given up trying to second-guess Simon. He threw in the towel hours ago trying to make sense of his mood and stopped attempting to make conversation. It was only making matters worse anyway.

Simon volunteered to take the cave in the woods, which is fine by Kieren. It was the one place he avoided at all costs if he could. It held so many memories. Some good, but certainly the bad had outweighed those of late, and he could not help but wonder, that despite Simon’s attitude toward him, perhaps knowing how he felt about the woods was why he had offered to take it and leave Kieren to the Roarton village bridge instead.

 

It was a long walk through the woods to the cave, but Simon did not mind. Both men could do with the time alone, and the separation was the first thing they had managed to agree on since the day had begun.

Simon puts down the bucket and almost empty bottle of cleaner on the ground when he arrives at the mouth of the cave and reads the words BEWARE ROTTERS sprayed to the right of the entrance. The light is fading fast and he has not thought to bring a torch with him, so he begins working on it without pause. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could get home.

Dean had been right, with all the practice he was getting to be a dab hand at this lark and the harsh Lancashire weather had eroded much of the paint away anyway. The rock was completely free of graffiti in no time at all and he chucks the brush into the bucket on completion of the task. More than a little fed up and totally exhausted.

Time to go home then.

He picks up the equipment and pulls his jacket back on, which he had taken off to avoid it getting wet, and turns to leave.

Only he is curious.

This was the place Kieren had died. Inside the cave, in this lonely place. His life ebbing away as he sat inside, all alone.

He dumps the bucket back down where he stands and enters the cave cautiously. After a few steps he can barely make out anything, even as his eyes become accustome to the dim light. Taking the lighter out of his pocket, he lights it so to make his way further down until he comes to a cluster of candles positioned on the ground. Presumably this is the spot where Kieren took his life.

Something catches his attention.

To his right, there is writing scratched into the cave wall. He should have expected to see something like this, but it still hits him like a punch in the gut.

Sinking down to the ground in front of it, he pulls his knees to his chest, laying his arms over them and resting his chin on top, huddling in to himself in an echo of someone before him sitting on that exact spot five years before.

 

Kieren has finished. The bridge is clean of graffiti and he has really had enough for the day. Thank God he does not have a shift at The Legion tonight, because he does not think he would have the energy to survive it.

It is not yet dark and he wonders how Simon is doing. As it turned out cleaning the graffiti off the bridge took no time at all and he feels slightly guilty that Simon had to go all the way into the woods.

Whatever was wrong, whatever he had done – and he was sure it was something he must have done - he had to make it up to Simon. Without him, Kieren knew he was lost. Life - alright then, second life - without Simon, did not even bare thinking about. He had come to rely on him, depend on him. He needed him. He loved him.

He had to sort it out.

Decision made, he heads in the direction of the woods, hoping to catch Simon on his return trip as there was only one route there and the same one back, so he should not be able to miss him.

 

Kieren was not expecting for Simon to still be there, but he had not passed him on the way. He began to wonder if Simon had finished up faster than he had and already made it back to the bungalow, when he came to the opening in the trees and saw the cave.

He stands paralyzed for a moment, instantly transported to that dark night on November 30th, 2009.

 

When Kieren had heard the news about Rick, he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. Life did not mean anything anymore. That was the way he felt, like he was out of kilter with everyone and everything around him. He could not stand in a single place for more than a minute, could not rest when he sat down. There was a building pressure inside him, so much noise in his head. He could not concentrate.

He was exhausted, but when he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, the room was spinning. He had to get up; he had to get out of the house. He could not breath, he needed to be away from it all, needed space and needed to be alone.

Alone. That is all he had now.

He probably should talk to someone. Let it all out; the pain; the frustration; the despair. But there was no one, not anymore. Rick was gone, and all there was, all there had ever been, was Rick.

No one else understood him. No one else really cared.

Yes, his parents loved him, but they did not understand him. They saw who they wanted to see in him, not who he truly was. Would they be appalled if they really recognised who he was? Would they think him a freak?

He just did not fit in with everyone else, he was not like everyone else, so would they try and change him if they knew? Even if they could understand him, they would surely want to try and fix him, make him like them. But he was not like them. He never would be, he knew that much. So who was there left?

He had no real friends, no one he was close to. Acquaintances yes, but when he ran through the short list of people he knew, people he could speak to, he came up empty.

Alone. He was entirely alone in this world now.

Only months before he was full of hope, full of excitement for what lay ahead. Getting accepted into Art College, he had his whole future laid out before him, his escape where anything was possible and he could just be himself. He used to visualise it like a long motorway in the dead of night. No cars on the road, just bright motorway lights in the central reservation, stretching out on and on before him, lighting his way. He could see so far ahead of him and although his sight could not reach miles down the road, he knew it was there and it was where he was headed. It was one way traffic and he could only go forward, there was no slip roads, not turn offs, no way to make a U-turn, and the momentum of it all was propelling him forward. 

But that was all before.

Now, as he travelled along that motorway he watched as the lights went out one by one ahead of him, leaving darkness in their wake. He could not see ahead him now, it was pitch black and there was nothing there. No future; no way back; no return. There was no escape and nowhere to go. All that was left was nothing and he had not the energy to fight it. If nothing were all that was left, he would gratefully take nothing and pay the toll to cross into it.

The pressure was rising inside him and his chest felt like a black hole. Empty as if it had caved in on himself and it hurt. It actually physically hurt. He had to do something to make the pain go away.

His first thought was to go to Shop ‘n’ Save and he bought a bottle of White Lightning and a packet of cigarettes like he and Rick used to. Drinking himself into oblivion and poisoning his lungs seemed like the most immediate way to distract himself from the pain.

He knew where he was headed and his feet took him there automatically without any real conscious thought on his brain’s part. He found his way to the entrance of the cave and edged his way inside in the dark, taking out his lighter from his pocket to provide just enough light to find his way to his and Rick’s spot. They had left candles there and he lit them with the lighter one by one as the cave came alive with dancing shadows like ghosts of memories past from happier times there.

Leaning against the side of the cave, he stared ahead at the inscription on the wall and slid down it until he was huddled on the floor.

REN + RICK 4 EVER he read, over and over again as he unscrewed the bottle of cider and took a long deep gulp, allowing it to burn his throat as he swallowed the sweet but potent liquid.

The cigarette gave him a head rush and for a moment he felt light headed and drowsy, not quite the drug induced outer body experience he was hoping for, but it was as close as he was going to get.

Still the pain continued as the pressure increased within him.

It hurt. It hurt so much and he had to let the pain out somehow, before it consumed him entirely.

He had noticed when he reached into his pocket for the lighter that he had the Swiss Army Knife his dad had giving him for his birthday and pulled it out to look at it for a moment, bringing the sharp blade out that was tucked away inside. He pushed his sleeve up and raised his arm up and stared at the fine fair hairs on the topside of his lower arm. If he just made a small cut, just one, then maybe he could let some of that pressure out.

He had to do something. Anything. So he pressed the sharp edge of the blade to his skin and drew it toward him leaving a bright crimson line in its wake.

The pain seared his flesh and for a moment it was blissful, but as he took the knife away, the pressure, the total despair, was still there. Ever present. Never wavering. Never ending.

It was not enough. It was pointless. It was hopeless.

Everything was hopeless.

There was nothing left for him anymore and there was nowhere left to go, he knew that now.

He just wanted it to end. Flick a switch and be gone. No more. Nothing.

He pushed up his other sleeve now and turned both his hands over looking at his bare wrists. He knew which way to cut; knew which way the exit sign pointed and all of a sudden he could see a slip road after all on that darkened motorway. There was a way out. There was an escape. A way to make it all stop, and he put the blade of the knife once again to his pale fresh and pressed down hard.

And there it was. Relief.

Suddenly, he was free.

 

Simon did not know how long he had been sitting in the cave for, but hearing a noise outside the cave rouses him from his thoughts.

“Hello?” he shouts out. The word echoing down the passageway. “Someone there?”

The entrance goes dim as someone stands in front of it, blocking out the remaining outside light.

“It’s me,” Kieren calls back, making his way to where Simon is sitting.

Kieren glances up at his own graffiti. The lasting words written, that Rick and he had left there many years ago now. He felt ashamed suddenly, he should have realised Simon was likely to see it. Simon had told him once that Amy needed to see that she was loved so he showed her love. It was only after, as Kieren got to know him a little better, that he came to the conclusion that Simon had understood this so well in Amy, because it was something he recognised in himself. The last thing Kieren wanted to do was hurt Simon, but remaining in Roarton, with memories around every corner, was bound to impact on their relationship eventually.

They sit in silence for a while. Kieren beside Simon - close, but not quite touching – and it feels like there is a gulf between them.

Eventually, Simon speaks.

“I always knew you were important, Kieren. From the very start. Didn’t know exactly how important back then of course.”

Kieren looks up sharply at the sound of his voice. This sounds like the beginning of a goodbye and a hot streak of anger floods through him at the thought.

“Why, because yer thought I was The First Risen?”

“No, because…” How to explain? “Ever heard of the Persian poet, Hāfez of Shiraz?”

Kieren shakes his head.

“I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being _._ ”

Simon had always thought those words were beautiful, but they had never held such profound meaning for him until recently.

“Yeah, well…” Kieren mutters, shrugging off Simon’s implied suggestion.

“Ye see, when ye look at yourself in the mirror, Kieren, I know who ye see looking back at ye. Ye see someone who doesn’t fit in; someone who’s not like all the rest; out of step with everyone else around ye.”

“I don’t want to be different,” Kieren whispers, almost to himself. “Why is it so hard for me to be like everyone else?”

Simon looks at the beautiful boy in front of him. Twenty-four now, but forever eighteen.

“Because you’re not like everyone else and don’t let anyone tell ye ye should be.”

That’s easier said than done. Words are easy, putting them into practice is a different thing entirely. Surely, Simon must realise that?

“When I first came back, I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. Not without me cover-up on anyway. I never told yer that before. I’d put a towel over the bathroom mirror so I didn’t have to see. But, it went farther back than that.”

“Before ye died? It’s not about being alive or undead, is it? Not for you. Kieren, have ye any idea?” Simon asks, shaking his head in awe.

Kieren shifts uncomfortably as Simon gives him what he thought of as his ‘Messiah look’ again.

“You’re braver than you’ll even know.”

Kieren lets out a laugh, but it is a bitter one.

“I don’t feel brave. I feel _useless_. Powerless. Always have.”

“How are you useless?”

You see the thing about Simon was, he would keep chipping away at you, until he found what he knew was lurking deep within. They say a sculptor can see a formless chunk of marble and the sculpture yet to be uncovered would be revealed to them just by looking at it, and Simon had the ability to do this with people. He would chip away tiny pieces at a time of the outer wall you put up around yourself until he got at the real you buried inside. It did not matter how hard you tried to hide within, he worked and he worked and he worked, until he finally saw you.

Every contour. Every flaw. Every crack.

And every magnificent facet of a person’s soul.

If it were there to be found, Simon Monroe would always find it, and expose it to the light.

And it drove Kieren crazy, because with every discovery he made of Kieren, he would admire it, and appreciate it, and cherish it and adore it. And how could anyone ever live up to that?

When it should have made Kieren feel loved, it just made him angry for not being able to see himself in the same way.

In frustration he begins to raise his voice when he next opens his mouth, and it echoes down the length of the cave.

“I’m useless, because I couldn’t save Rick, alright?”

Simon lays a hand on his in an attempt to calm him, but Kieren shrugs it off. He does not want to be touched right now. He needs to get this out. He needs to make Simon see him as he sees himself.

“I couldn’t see what Jem was going through. I failed them both and I’ve put my parent’s through hell and back. I mean, what sort of person am I, ay?”

Simon could not bear to see Kieren in pain, especially when it was so unjustly self-inflicted, as it was now. He tries to reach out for him again, but again Kieren recoils at his touch.

“No! Will yer just listen to me a minute? Because do yer know what the worst part of all this is? I’m still doing it. I’m still hurting people.”

“But you’re not!!” Simon’s tone sounds desperate even to him, but Kieren is shaking his head again. So stubborn, he was not even willing to listen.

Determined, Simon presses forward and take Kieren’s face in his hands, not allowing to be pushed away a third time or be resisted further. He is going to get through to Kieren and stop this, stop this right now.

“Now ye listen to me, Kieren,” he says, speaking quietly but firmly, resting his forehead against Kieren’s as if the closer their minds were physically, the clearer he could get his message across. “You’re incredible, d’ye hear? I could live a thousand lifetimes and never meet another person who takes my breath away like ye do.”

“Yeah, well. Ye don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?”

“Yer should leave; leave Roarton. Yer said so yerself, it’s not safe. When Rick came back, I got him killed. And now? Now, I’m really bloody scared the same thing’s going to happen to you.”

He says these last words practically as a whimper. His anger is all but burnt out now and all that is left is a vulnerable and fragile boy.

Simon pulls back just far enough to look at him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if yer stay with me, the same thing could happen to you.” Kieren is on the verge of tears now. “The ULA are already after yer because of me. Christ, it could happen all over again, be exactly like before and I don’t know how to change it. I don’t know how to stop it!”

Kieren was crying real tears now. Clear, salty tears and not the thick black liquid that Simon had expected to see falling from a Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferer’s eyes.

Simon was even more gentle when next spoke. “The ULA are not after me, Kieren, and even if they were, it’s because of what I did and the decisions I made. It has nothing to do with you.”

“But it _does_ though, doesn’t it?”

Simon needed to hear about Rick. He did not want to, but it was clearly at the root of the problem, so hear it he must. So he grits his teeth and asks.

“Tell me about Rick.”

Kieren looks away and stares into the darkness beyond. Allowing himself to go there, to think about Rick was not something that could be done without pain. He had tried to kid himself all this time, tried to tell himself he was past all this, moving on. He even thought if said it out loud then it would make it true, But the real truth was, it was still there, just below the surface, and where the memories were buried so was the pain. He could not have one without the other.

“He were one of the only mates I ever had. When we first met, I actually couldn’t believe he wanted to hang out with me, because he was always popular. Always a laugh, good at sport. His grades were never up to much and at first that’s why I thought he wanted to be mates, to copy homework or something, but we just, I dunno, got on. He wasn’t the same with me as he was when he was around everyone else, but…”

Amy had already told Simon what he was like around other people.

“He wasn’t the same with ye when he was around everyone else either?” Simon finished for him.

“No. I knew it was an act, something he just put on, yer know, acting the lad everyone thought he were. And I used to think, why couldn’t I be like that? I sometimes thought Rick wished I could be like that too. It would have made things a lot easier.”

“In what way?”

“Rick and I, it was always there and as time went on we just got closer. Never did ‘owt though about it, his dad would have gone mental if we did and he found out. Never even got to kiss him. There was this time when he came back, we were in the truck and for a moment, there didn’t seem any point in pretending anymore, but then Bill called on the walkie and Rick jumped like he always did. I got it, Bill were his dad, but he didn’t have to do everything he told him to. Rick used to have these posters on his wall, pin ups. His dad approved, thought it made him a real bloke. Things might have been different it we’d have been able to get away, but that never happened.”

Simon is starting to understand now and everything begins to fall into place. The damage inflicted, the scars it had left.

“They were Rick’s issues, not yours.”

“Yeah, but I owed him. He was all I had and when he died, the first time, I thought it was my fault. I’d driven him to it. He’d joined the army to get away from me.”

How could Kieren have been carrying this around for so long? And it angered him. To think someone who was supposed to love him had done this to Kieren. He was not to blame, he had been collateral damage, caught in the carnage left behind between Rick and his father.

“Ye ever thought that maybe he joined the army to run away from himself? It wasn’t your fault. This place, they have a skewed view of what is normal.”

“It’s alright for you, Simon, yer come from a city. It’s different there. People are more accepting. Everyone’s different in some way or another. But here, here yer gotta fit in.”

“That’s just being a sheep, Kieren.”

“So what does that make you, the good shepherd?”

“Not really, always been a bit of a black sheep meself.” Simon smiled for the first time and it seemed to break the tension between them. “Kieren, other people’s problems are not yours. Ye have a right to be proud of who ye are. I’m proud of you.”

“Are yer?” How could he be? Really.

“Wouldn’t love ye as much as I do, if I wasn’t.”

Kieren looks into Simon eyes and sees the truth in his words.

“How can yer love me though?”

“How can I not?”

Simon pulls Kieren to him and holds him tightly, wrapping both his arms around him and tucking Kieren's head underneath his chin. Kieren submerses himself in Simon, practically burying himself against his chest and disappearing beneath his open coat.

When he pulls back, he looks directly at Simon and his eyes are questioning even before any words have chance to catch up with his expression. “So, we’re alright then? You and me?”

Simon lets his arms drop now from around Kieren's body. “Well that depends?”

“On what?”

Here it comes. The make or break. Every part of Simon was screaming at him not to say it, but he knows he must. He has to know.

“If ye feel the same for me? Because if ye don’t, ye gotta do what is right for you. Ye have to find what makes you happy, Kieren.”

“If this is the whole ‘If yer love them, set them free’ speech?”

Simon smiles sadly at him. “Something like that.”

“I don’t need to be set free,” Kieren says, and grasps the front of Simon’s jumper with both hands, pulling him in as he advances forward.

Their lips crush together and they both grunt as it knocks the air out of their lungs. Kieren kisses him hard, pressing his whole body into Simon’s, but Simon can take it and pushes back equal tenacity. It is a desperate act, a reaffirming act and it is what they both need. Kieren pours out his soul through the kiss and Simon accepts it greedily until they are both dizzy and exhausted.

Simon pulls away just far enough to see Kieren’s face clearly and brushes his fringe away from his eyes. His smile is warm and tells Kieren everything is alright between them.

“Come on,” he says, getting to his feet and pulling Kieren with him. “Time to go home. Think this has all been enough for one day.”

 


	7. In the Lonely Hour

Kieren and Simon have decided to have an early night, and when they arrive home from their Give Back work, Amy is already in her bedroom.

It is late and all the residents of Conyers Road have retired to bed. Rows of dark houses stand dormant under the amber street lamps, tiny droplets of water that make up the thin mist of rain illuminate under their hazy glow.

The bungalow is quiet.

Simon and Kieren’s room is bathed in darkness, except for a thin sliver of light from the crack in the curtains where each side meet, escaping from the street outside. It flows like liquid gold across the bed and produces long elongated shadows that dance across the room as the sheets that cover the bed shift.

The only noise that penetrates the silence is the sound of their mingled breathing as they try to make as little noise as possible with Amy asleep in the next room. Each breath they take is rough and fast, as if there is not enough oxygen in the room to support their excursions. Neither men need it, but remembered reflexes of being alive and muscle memory is difficult to suppress when all their senses are so completely consumed in the moment.

Simon moves steadily above Kieren, while the springs of the mattress groan underneath their weight and squeak rhythmically beneath them. His cool lips search blindly for their receptive counterparts, and in finding such a willing target, press greedily against them. Two sets of hungry mouths move in the dark to trace familiar contours as gentle kisses fall randomly onto bare flesh, while strong hands and slender fingers, squeeze and grip solid muscle making their way up and down each others bodies. Each touch makes the necessary silence more and more difficult to preserve.         

Pressing his face into the hollow of Kieren’s neck, Simon stifles the soft moan of his lover’s name. It is not just the physical sensation that overwhelms him - although he never imagined his undead body could feel like this – but the emotional connection of being so close to the one person that has seemingly and quietly fused their soul with his. It is the greatest high he has ever experienced and nothing, in either of his lifetimes, has ever come close to the experience of this intimacy with Kieren.

Only it is more than that. Simon cannot image that the peace that this brings, along with the irony of feeling so alive, could ever be equalled - let alone surpassed - by any everlasting life any religion promises.

Kieren balls the cool cotton sheets underneath his fingers into a fist in a futile attempt not to make any noise in response to the sensations induced by Simon’s steady pace. He worries that it is approaching a point where his reactions may well be involuntary, but neither of them wish to wake Amy from her slumber in the next-door bedroom.

Simon can feel Kieren is oh-so-close and he concentrates on giving him pleasure before taking his own.

 

Simon was not even thirty years old when he died; but still of an age that all but guaranteed he had more than attained his fair share of lovers in that lifetime.

He had been raised to respect the fairer sex to the point of old fashioned chivalry. He would always give up his seat without a second’s thought if he saw a woman standing. Cursing or speaking badly in front of them was unimaginable, but opening doors and offering to carry even a stranger’s heavy bags was practically an automatic reflex. His mother had brought her son up well as that sort of thing was ingrained into him even now, but never, in his whole life, did he feel so much as the most meagre of sexual attraction to any female that crossed his path.

By the time he hit puberty, a sexual identity crises seemed null and void, as the animalistic nature of any sexual act felt somehow inappropriate to him to inflict on a women. He had slept with women in the past, of course he had. Simon was nothing if not someone who would always try anything at least once, but they were far too delicate and so small, soft and to his mind extremely fragile, it was if he were defiling them in some sordid kind of way and he despised himself for it.

So it was men he found himself drawn to; men he understood. They were like him, robust and strong, and able to weather all the feral passion he threw at them, no matter how fierce. The irony was though, that it had always been the slighter, gentler types who caught his eye and peaked his interest.

The contempt he kept caged deep within for himself since childhood, made his desire for men easier, as he knew they could take everything he had to give and push back equally as hard in return - sometimes even, with more ferocity still - and it took him out of himself. It was the first thing he had discovered that had the ability to wipe his mind clean during those fleeting encounters, without the need of narcotics or any other chemical substance. It was not sex, it was not making love, it was fucking, and his sexual conquests had been made up of partners who entered his life suddenly and left just as quickly. Every relationship he had ever had was always fleeting, never allowing himself to stick around long enough for any emotional attachment to have time to germinate.

He could never have imagined how being with someone he cared so deeply for, could make it so much more, as that was all before he was chosen to leave the commune with Amy and went on his mission to the village of Roarton, to find The First Risen.

All before he met Kieren Walker.

And the moment he saw Kieren, he knew he was in trouble. He may have found The First Risen, but he had also found something even more sacred.

Sitting on his gravestone, mesmerized by the view of the valley on that cold misty morning, Simon had turned to see beauty that surpassed even that of the wild, raw and untamed pulchritude beyond.

He had not expected it and it came as a bolt out of the blue. Amy had spoken at length about her friend and during those conversations he imagined him as a shining bright diamond amongst all the fossilized blacked coal of the Lancashire valley from which they lived. He thought it would be an easy conversion. All he would need to do was just clear away all the dust and debris around Amy’s friend and introduce him to the light. Then Simon had seen him, and even underneath the mousse and the contacts, light already shone brightly from Kieren Walker. It shone out of him practically from every pore.

He radiated it. He generated it and its heat warmed Simon.

He could feel the charge immediately, but unlike any addiction he had ever known, in that moment he knew it was one he never wanted to be without. It was not what he was in Roarton for, in fact, it was remarkably bad timing all things considered – a distraction using up precious energy and time when he should be focusing on his real purpose there – but God help him, he could not resist the pull of what seemed to Simon as an Angel in human form.

He had a pure soul, that much was obvious. Kieren was moral and true, standing by his principles and being ruled by a good heart. Simon recognised that before the thought even crossed his mind that he could be The First.

Kieren might have been a little naïve to the evils of the world - which at times Simon had found more than a little frustrating when Kieren’s stubborn morals clashes against his own - but that innocence only made him more of an attraction to him.

Simon would be lying to say that Kieren’s virtue - as he was later to discover - also applied to his life experiences and allowed Simon to be the first person to take Kieren’s lips for the first time and kiss him, was not a turn on to him. And then to be given the gift of being the first to take his body - to be the only person to be allowed to explore and worship it - touched him on a deeper level entirely. That he was the one Kieren had chosen to bestow this privilege to, sent shivers down his exposed spine.

Simon had always had the confidence that comes from knowing who he was and what he wanted, and it had allowed him the experience Kieren lacked. Neither of them liked labels; alive or undead, gay, bisexual or straight - ultimately it was who you were, deep down in the darkest recesses of your soul, that mattered - and there was recognition there between them, as if an invisible thread linked one to the other and pulled them constantly together. Kieren was what Simon craved and Simon was what Kieren needed. They were a match in both mind and spirit.

 

There is a noise in the hallway. They barely even register it over their laboured breathing, but then it sounds again.

“What’s that?” Kieren asks, raising his head and peering over Simon’s shoulder towards the door, trying to better hear.

Simon slows, looking at Kieren’s face in the dim light. You’ve got to be kidding.

“What?” he questions, trying to catch his breath.

“I heard a noise.”

Not now, just not right now.

Simon answer does little to disguise his frustration. “Probably just Amy.”

“Do yer think she’s alright?”

Simon had told Kieren about Amy’s nightmare, but she always scolded him for worrying over her too much. He is reluctant to be chastised again, especially when all he can focus on right now is Kieren. The feel of him, the taste of him, and the sounds he makes when he touches him as they learn each other’s bodies a little better. When Simon is with Kieren he can never think straight, and lately when he is not around him, he cannot think of anything else at all but him.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine,” Simon soothes, taking his mouth in an urgent kiss as means of a distraction.

It works and Kieren’s attention is drawn back into the moment.

The muted creak of the dodgy floorboard by the kitchen echoes through the otherwise silent bungalow.

“Think I better check on her,” Kieren whispers apologetically.

Simon sighs, stopping completely above Kieren’s concern.

Composing himself, he rolls to the side for the second time in as many days, allowing Kieren to throw the covers off to get out of bed. He fumbles around on the floor for his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt, pulls them on hastily and opens the door to the hallway, peering out into the gloom.

“Amy?” he calls out, keeping his voice low.

There is no answer.

He notices a white gleam coming from underneath the kitchen door.

“Amy, is that you? Yer alright?”

Still no answer.

Approaching the entrance, he pushes down on the handle, opening it slowly.

The fridge door is ajar, casting cold illuminations around the kitchen. A dark figure crouches down in front of it.

“Phil?”

Philip stands up abruptly in surprise as if he has just been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. He is wearing nothing but Amy’s silk kimono dressing grown, which fits where it touches. Kieren tries not to laugh.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake yer both,” Phil apologises awkwardly.

It is only now that Kieren notices that Simon has appeared behind him in the entrance to the kitchen, himself clad only in a pair of worn jeans. He notices the top button has been left unfastened and starts to regret his decision to go and investigate the noise.

“No, it’s okay. We were still up.” That is one way of putting it.

Simon raises his eyebrows at Kieren, who does his best not to react to the unintentional innuendo.

“Didn’t know ye were staying over, Phil?” Simon says, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms so casually, anyone would think that he had just been playing chess with Kieren in their room and not… well, anyway.

Phil seems to realise he is starting to refrigerate the whole neighbourhood by leaving then fridge door open and closes it with his foot guiltily.

“Amy wanted a midnight snack,” he says, by way of an explanation.

“I know the feeling,” Simon whispers into Kieren’s ear, only to receive a _"Shhh!"_ and a jab in the ribs for his troubles.

“Don’t think we’ve much in still.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be. You two not eating, I mean,” he smiles before his face falls sharply at the realisation that the comment was perhaps less than tactful.

Simon unfolds his arms and stands up straight.

“Right, I can’t take the rejection any more,” he says to Kieren, and then as he turns to leave, “If everything’s okay here, I’m going back to bed.”

Walking back into the darkness of the hallway, he gives his lover a knowing grin as he goes.

“And Kieren?” Kieren looks at him as Simon winks back, “Don’t be long, will ye?”

Philip notices Simon’s back and gasps quietly in surprise as he exits. Kieren does not need to look to see what has caught his eye. They wait until they hear the bedroom door being pulled to.

“Is that what he died of?” Philip asks quietly.

Kieren shakes his head. “No, that was done after, while he was at the treatment centre. Halperin and Weston experimented on him, their idea of trying to find a cure.”

“I see,” he says looking horrified. “Well, I guess they found one in the end, at least.” And then realising he has put his foot in it again, quickly adds, “For some people, anyway.”

“For _some_ people,” Kieren agrees solemnly.

“So, what’s going on here then?” Amy practically sings out from the hallway.

Her hair is slightly bedraggled and she appears to be donning what looks like Philip's work shirt. It is all creased and wrinkled, as if it had been hurriedly retrieved from the floor, yet she is still approaching the kitchen door with a smile that is a pure ‘Amy Special.’

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think yer two were in cohoots over something.”

Both men shake their heads automatically in denial.

“Yer dirty beasts!” she gasps, “Sneaking out here to plot a threesome. What are yer like?”

Kieren rolls his eyes while Philip looks on aghast at her suggestion.

“Hi Amy. I heard a noise and assumed it was you. Just thought I better check yer were okay.”

“Okay? I’m not just okay, I’m a sex goddess, me! Isn’t that right, Tiger?” Tiger just smiles shyly back at her. “Then again, he’s not so bad himself,” she finishes, dropping her voice so only Kieren can hear the last part.

“I think I’ll go back to bed,” Kieren says a little embarrassed, mainly for Philip.

“Oooh, where the magic happens, handsome?”

“Er, yep, something like that.”

“Either that, or to oil those bed springs!” Kieren eyes widen as she shoots him a knowing look. “Surprised the neighbours got any kip at all while I was away with that racket going on every night.”

Kieren decides not to comment and instead makes a hasty escape. Their nocturnal habits and what the neighbours may or may not think about it - or anything else for that matter - does not concern him anymore. He also knows having Simon in his life now is to thank for that.

 

\---

 

The four of them decide to walk together to the village hall for the Give Back assembly, Simon and Kieren as participants, Philip as organiser and Amy just going along too as she does not have anything better to do with her day and is simply happy for the opportunity to spend the day with Philip. There was a time when she would have done anything to not spend time cooped up with him in the village hall, assisting him with menial tasks like answering the phone and helping him with filing, but things have changed quite dramatically for them now.

“Just promise me yer won’t answer the phone with anything,” Philip stumbles over his words as he continues, “ _inappropriate_ this time?”

 _“Inappropriate?”_ Amy repeats, doing a very bad impression of Philip's voice. “Like what?”

“Like answering as the ‘Village of the Damned, how can I help you?’" Philip pleads, as they enter the empty hall. " _Please_ Amy?”

“What’s it worth?”

“Well…” He tries to think of a suitable reward, but comes up empty.

“Never mind, I’m sure I can think of something. Anyway, was planning on saying, ‘You have reached the winter of our discontent’ this time, so.”

_“AMY!”_

“I’m kidding,” she sighs. “Don’t be such an old Grotbags!”

Gary, Dean and the Give Back participants are yet to arrive, which means Simon and Kieren are not just on time, but early for once. No one will be threatening them with non-compliance today, which will make a change.

Amy nods back at Philip seriously, raising two fingers in oath, “Scouts honour.”

“Amy, you were never in the Cub Scouts. I know, because I was troop leader.”

“I dunno,” Amy shrugs, “Brownies then. Would have loved to see yer in your uniform though, bet yer looked dead sexy, like Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman.”

Philip looks at her puzzled. “He was in the Navy, wasn’t he?”

“Alright, Tom Cruise in Top Gun then!”

“Erm, I think that was the Navy too.” There is no ‘think’ about it, but once Amy has an idea in her head, there is usually no talking her out of it.

In fact, Amy is still going on about it as she follows him into the office.

“No, as he was a pilot, dumdum. That means he’d have to be in the air force.”

Philip gathers his meeting notes and decides the safest option is to drop the subject, smartish.

“Oh yeah,” he laughs, “In that case, yer must be right. Air Force, of course.”

By the time they come back out, Simon and Kieren have arranged the chairs ready for the meeting. They are in conversation, but Amy has missed half of it.

“Ye working this weekend?” Simon is asking Kieren as they both finish off straightening the lines of seats.

“Am Friday night, but got all of Saturday off.”

“Ye think ye could get Friday off too? Thinking about taking a trip to the city. See me dad,” Simon clarifies, somewhat nonchalantly.

“Oh. Okay,” Kieren says, sitting down in the back row, shrugging off his coat and pulling the bright orange, ‘I’m PDS and I’m Giving Back’ bib, over his head. “Well I can speak to Pearl, see if I can swap around the shifts.”

Simon joins him sitting down. He takes his own bib off his shoulder, but does not put it on.

“What’s this?” Amy asks, plonking herself next to Simon with a thump. “Yer not going on a day trip without me, I hope?”

“Simon’s going to see his dad,” Kieren explains.

“That’s good. Hey, no, that's _great_ , in fact. If you’re going to the city, we could all go? You two, me and Philip.”

Simon does not respond and Kieren is left to second guess whether it is because he would rather make this difficult trip alone, just the two of them, or is not bothered one way or the other and so has no further contribution to give on the subject.

Kieren eyes Amy suspiciously. What is her interest in the city all of a sudden, anyway?

“Why would yer want to come with us?”

“Well,” Amy starts and Kieren can hear there is something monumental – in Amy’s opinion anyway – coming. “There’s this club I’ve heard about. It’s called the Lazy Jones.”

“A club?” Kieren asks dubiously.

“Yeah, it’s for people like us. Well, like you, well like… Anyway, it’s meant to be rocking.”

Simon has not spoken to his father in a long time, so clubbing is probably not going to be high on his priorities of things to do when they get there.

“Well…” Kieren begins, wondering how to word this without giving too much of Simon’s business away, or offending Amy for that matter. But she is far too excited by the idea to let him continue with whatever he is about to say.

“I’ll speak to Philip. He’s got a car now, for _business purposes_." The way she says business purposes sounds very much like terminology Philip might have used and she is just repeating them. "He could drive us there.”

It would certainly be easier than catching a train. People were not too keen on seeing PDS Sufferers on public transport these days for obvious reasons after the past years terrorist attacks.

Amy is up and out of her chair before either Simon or himself have chance to say anything further on the subject.

“Where are yer going?” Kieren calls out to her as she passes Philip, who just gawks after her as she disappears back into the office.

“Going to get Philip’s laptop,” Amy calls back. “To look at hotels, _obviously_.”

“Well, guess that’s settled then,” Simon says to Kieren and Philip, who both look a little railroaded by it all.

Philip just smiles, somewhat dazed, and turns his attention back to his notes, sitting down away from them at the front.

“We could tell her no. If you’d rather?” Kieren whispers. He would always let Amy have her way in all things, but not at the expense of Simon, especially not when it was this important for him.

“No. If it doesn’t go well, might as well make sure the weekend isn’t an entire washout.”

They sit in silence now until Simon notices Kieren smiling to himself.

“What?”

Kieren shakes his head, “Nothing,” which would look a little more convincing, were he not wearing a grin from ear to ear.

“Kieren, _what?”_

“It’s just... It’ll be our first weekend away together.”

“It will,” Simon agrees, putting his arms around his shoulders. “Next time, if these phantom certificates they promise ever appear, maybe I’ll get to take ye to Dublin.” He kissed Kieren. “Show ye where I grew up.” Kieren kissed him back. “And then to Paris, maybe?” They kissed again. “Berlin. And then, who knows where?”

This sort of behaviour would normally be reserved for their private time together, as neither men feel particularly comfortable with public displays of affection, but there is only Amy and Philip there to see them and they have seen it all before by now anyway. In fact, they are so engrossed in each other, they fail to notice that other people have started filing in to the hall, until someone clears their throat near by causing them to both look up.

“Alright?”

Zoe is standing in front of them. She is au naturel as usual and wearing her favourite tea cosy woolly hat, with her lank peroxide hair matching her bleached bare skin and contactless eyes.

Brian is beside her, and nods, “Simon, Kieren” in greeting, as if he has been coerced into doing so.

Kieren looks at the two of them and frowns. Well this is a turn up for the books, thought as far as they were concerned Simon was a traitor and they blamed Kieren for leading him astray.

“We’re good, thanks,” Kieren answers with very little warmth in his voice.

“Good. We should meet up sometime? It’s been ages,” Zoe continues, as if the events of the Beating of the Bounds March had never happened.

“Sure,” Simon agrees, although Kieren doubts he is being sincere.

Amy is back with the laptop and does not notice Zoe and Brian as she sits down again beside Simon.

“Found a PDS friendly hotel that has two rooms for Friday and Saturday night,” she says.

When neither Simon or Kieren reply, she looks up to see who they are in conversation with and glares immediately at the pair in front of her. She had little time for Zoe before, but after what had happened, she has none whatsoever now.

“If yer wouldn’t mind, got important stuff to discuss here.”

Zoe nods, her smile fixed in place.

“Will catch yer later then,” she says, before pulling Brian away.

The three of them watch in silence as they sit on the opposite side of the room.

Kieren is the first to comment, “That was weird!”

“Oh, who cares about them!” Amy bristles. “Anyway, take a look-see at this hotel I’ve found.”

 

\---

 

The rest of the week had dragged for all but Simon. Amy was giddy with excitement for the weekend, Kieren and Philip were reserving judgement on whether it was going to turn out a great success or a dismal failure, and Simon was secretly apprehensive at the idea of seeing his father again.

Amy had booked two double rooms online for both nights at a Comfort City Express. It was one of those 'hotels for businessmen' style establishments. They were clean, basic and no matter where you stayed, they all looked exactly the same, so you knew what you were getting whichever one you stayed at. Apparently it was PDS friendly as when it comes down to it, business is business, and if the undead had money to spend, they were not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Simon had stayed in this particular hotel before, but chose not to share that information with the others, in case Kieren asked when that had been and what for.

The hotel had a chain bar and restaurant next door to it, which served breakfast in the morning for the hotel guests and was all included in the price. PDS guests naturally did not get the rooms at a discounted rate, even though they would be forgoing the meal.

 

The four of them had left Roarton on Friday afternoon after the Give Back working day had finished. Philip had driven them to the city and stuck to the speed limit the entire way - shuffling the wheel instead of crossing his arms over when he took turnings, and tutting at cars as they overtook him - until Amy complained he was an "old man driver" and he found the accelerator.

They arrived at the hotel just before six, and after collecting their key cards from reception, made their way to their rooms with the agreement of meeting in ‘The Toad and Crown’ next door, before heading to the club later on.

Amy and Philip were already drinking in the bar by the time Simon and Kieren arrived and before they could object, Amy ordered a couple of bottles of HiGlow as soon as she spotted them coming through the doors. It seemed nearly everywhere was stocking it now.

Kieren had struggled to find appropriate clothing for the evening, not having been to a club before, but Simon was wearing new clothes that Kieren had insisted he bought a few months before. Most of what he had brought with him from the commune were hand-me-downs as he had taken very little with him from Norfolk, and his father had given his old clothes away to charity after he died, thinking he would never have need for them again.

Simon’s appearance was never something that particularly concerned him. He had always been what people thought of as a 'good looking guy', and it had worked to his advantage more than once in the past, but he never put any effort into the way he looked. In general he felt people should take him as they found him and Kieren admired that about him.

In fact, Kieren had grown quite fond of the thick oversized jumpers he wore, but the dark shirt and leather jacket he had on now, insured that Kieren could not take his eyes off him and Amy smiled in recognition of the love-sick look on his face. He did look quite different dressed in these new clothes. If only the girl's at the commune could see him now?

 

Neither Amy nor Philip had eaten, so at Simon and Kieren’s insistence, they took an hour or so getting food in the restaurant before going off to find this club of Amy's.

They paid the bill and put on their coats to leave. Amy was already a bit tipsy, determined that tonight was going to be a night to remember, and Kieren had the feeling that all bets were going to be off and he would have to keep a close eye on her in case she got a bit too carried away with things.

As they were leaving the pub, Amy grabbed Kieren’s arm, holding him back to put a little distance between them and Simon and Philip ahead.

“What yer doing?” Kieren whispered. See, this is exactly what he was talking about!

“Me and Morgeous here will be along in a minute,” Amy calls out to Simon and Philip, who turn momentarily to look back at her. “Girl talk. Go on, then!”

“Ye, what?” Amy was certainly going to be a handful tonight.

Simon and Philip continue on as instructed, keeping pace with one another. Kieren wonders what they will find in common to talk about and wishes he was with them instead of being 'one of the girls'.

“Shhh!” Amy whispers, putting her finger up to her lips. Only the sound is rather too loud and Kieren leans as far away as he can from her, only Amy has interlinked her arm with his and has him trapped securely. “So I’ve got to ask. Well I know I shouldn’t, but I just have to! Me and the girls at the commune always wondered.”

She is giggling and Kieren has the sense that the imminent question is going to be bad. Well, bad for him, anyway.

“Wondered? Wondered what?”

“About _Simon.”_

Simon? What about Simon?

“I’m fairly certain he’s gay Amy, on account of…,” he gestures toward himself with both hands pointing at his chest, “Being in a relationship with _me_.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Yes I rather gathered that, yer loon. Not that we realised that at the time. Can think of a few hearts that would'a broken had we known back then.” She decides not to mention that it might have also included her own.

“So what, then?”

“The walk! The John Wayne one,” Amy nods towards Simon walking ahead of them.

Kieren looks towards Simon who is now in deep conversation with Philip, though what the topic could be about, he simply can not fathom.

“They say John Wayne only had his famous gait for one of two reasons. The first being all that riding he did in those old western movies he were in,” Amy giggles again to Kieren's frown. He was more than a little confused by her meaning.

Reluctant to spell it out for him - as clearly Kieren was not catching on here - she drops her eyes toward his crotch, just for a second, and then raises her eyebrows at him questioningly.

Kieren’s mouth drops open.

“So? Come on then. Is it true? Were me and the girls right? Spill the beans, Kieren Walker! You're meant to be my BDFF.”

“Yer mean?" Oh. _"Oh!”_

He is incredibly glad he cannot blush anymore, as he is sure he would be beetroot colour otherwise at this point.

 _“Yeeeessss?”_ Amy encourages.

Hmmm. This is embarrassing. Not only for ending up somehow on the girl's side of the confidence – and he is not quite sure how that happened - but how to answer her question, exactly?

Simon was not what you might call a ‘starter boyfriend’, and that first night together at the bungalow - after the row he had had with Steve, because of what he had said to Gary over lunch - had plunged Kieren straight in at the deep end (so to speak). Luckily, Simon had known what he was doing and was conscious of it being Kieren’s first time. He was gentle with him, taking things slowly and had kept checking that he was sure he wanted to continue at each step.

He had seen Rick naked of course, and plenty of other lads in the showers after school football come to that, but in those circumstances you always pretended that you were not looking - and anyway, they were hardly in a state of arousal at the time - so comparison was difficult.

Was this really what girls talked about with each other?

He considered not answering, discussing his boyfriend’s anatomy was not something he felt comfortable with - to Amy or anyone else for that matter – but he realised this was probably something Amy had never been able to do in the past. Having chats with her mates about boys, swapping notes and experiences. When she was alive the first time around, she was denied all of that on account of being ill for so long, and so Kieren felt he could not refuse her now. Especially, when she was the best friend he had ever had, and vice versa.

So he answers her question. Sort of.

“I have no idea if Simon can even ride a horse.”

“I knew it! Ohhh, yer lucky boy, you,” she gasps. “Although, not so easy on the ol' jaw, I bet? Do not envy yer _that,_ my friend.”

Oh God. Really? Is she really referring to _that?_

But no, Amy is still going on.

“It all works then? Down there, I mean?”

Will she not shut up about it, already? Never mind jaw ache, if it were not already on the pavement, it certainly would be now.

Kieren really, _really,_ does not want to be having this conversation and just nods uncomfortably in the hope she will get the message and drop it. Some hope!

“Coz I did wonder,” she continues, oblivious to Kieren’s distress. “Not having a pulse and blood flow and all that. Then again, that never stopped all those horny vampires on TV, did it?”

“Hm.” It was getting way too ‘More magazine’ for Kieren’s liking.

Yes, he had occasionally sneaked a peak at some of Jem’s copies of the girl's mag when he was younger. Holding the magazine at arms length away from him and rotating it to different angles to try and figure out exactly how the 'Position of the Fortnight' was achieved.

“Not that I have anything to complain about with Philip.”

Right okay, Kieren did not need to hear the rest of wherever Amy was about to go with this. She will be arranging an Ann Summer’s party next at the bungalow and insisting he attends it at this rate.

He notices Simon and Philip are some way ahead of them now. Thank God, an excuse. Finally!

“We should probably catch up with them, ay?” he says and picks up the pace to join them, pulling her along quickly, before she can ask anything further.

 

\---

 

Amy claps her hands together and shouts, “There it is!” when they finally arrive at the club. Her directions have been spot on, despite her not entirely sober state.

Not that the club, as it turns out, is hard to miss.

There is a long queue curling around the converted warehouse, cordoned off by barriers. The heavy beat of the music playing inside is pumping through the very fabric of the building and as they make their way down parallel along the line of people, Kieren notices all the white undead eyes of the clubbers as he passes them by.

It is dark apart from the eerie green glow streaming down from the neon sign stating loud and proud, the name of the club, LAZY JONES.

“Lazy Jones?” Philip asks, looking up warily at the name. “Why’s it called that?”

“Dunno,” Amy shrugs, hugging her arms around herself before Philip does the honours and rubs her arms in an attempt to and warm her up in the freezing night air. “Heard it’s meant to be ironic though.”

Kieren is with Philip. Both are looking ever keener to give the whole thing a miss. It is only Amy’s enthusiasm that stops them both from legging it.

“Lazy Jones. It was the name of a computer game for the Commodore 64, back in the eighties,” Simon clarifies.

All three of them look back at him with blank faces.

“Commodore 64? No?” Simon sighs, “I forget how young ye all are, sometimes.”

The queue moves forward and the four of them shuffle along.

“I still don’t get it,” Philip says, feeling slightly less stupid, because clearly Amy and Kieren do not understand the reference either.

“The name of the club means Zombie Nation. The game’s soundtrack, Stardust, was sampled for the song ‘Kernkraft 400’, by the band…?”

“Zombie Nation?” Kieren finishes.

“See! Told yer it was meant to be ironic,” Amy says, nudging Philip in the ribs, before giving him a satisfied peck on the cheek. He smiles automatically and returns the favour.

The queue moves again and when they stop, Kieren turns back to Amy.

“Hang on. Thought yer didn’t like the term ‘zombie’?”

“I don’t!” she objects, and then smiles slyly bumping his shoulder. “Don’t mind the name Lazy Jones though.”

 

Amy is already bopping up and down to the beat, thumping into the street outside the club, by the time they reach the front of the line. There are two large bouncers checking the ID of anyone who looks under eighteen. They’re both PDS and their pinprick eyes and white shaven heads make them look even more menacing. They both look past Simon and assess Kieren, Amy and Philip for a moment, before nodding and letting them through.

The throbbing music is even louder in the entrance as they hand their coats in to the PDS girl behind the desk and are given plastic branded LAZY JONES keyrings with individual numbers on for retrieval later, before they approach the kiosk to pay their entrance fee.

“Fifteen quid each. Living must be accompanied by an Undead,” the bloke at the till says. “If you ain’t got enough Undead with you, suggest you go cop off with someone right quick, as if you’re not with an Undead, you’re not getting in. See?”

He points to a sign on the wall that states clearly in bold letters, NO UNDEAD, NO ADMITTANCE!

“Not a problem. Two Undead and,” Simon pauses for a moment. For all intents and purposes Amy looks like she belongs to the Living population. No point in drawing attention to her Re-Living state and be the subject of curiosity, so he keeps things simple, “And two Living.”

“It’s sixty in that case, mate,” he tells him, laying an open palm out lazily for the money. He has got a single contact lens in, but not the regular PDS Irisalways type. It is neon green and has a black swirl curling towards his pinprick pupil.

Simon and Philip hand over £30 each and they are waved through to a pair of double doors. They push them open and the music assaults them as a wall of solid sound.

The club is packed.

PDS, Living and who knows what else, ram the huge open space from wall to wall. Drinking, dancing - some are just people watching or simply surveying the hordes on the pull.

Kieren wonders how they can actually see anyone at all. It is really dark inside except for the green, purple and blue lazers circling over the crowd. White strobe lights flash on and off, highlighting the outlines of the clientele, as they dance to the pumping electronica vibrating through their bodies. He realises there must be black light too - put to good use by the dancers on the podiums either side of the raised dance area - as every pair of eyes that look him over, glow white as they push past him.

They squeeze their way through to the long bar running the length of the opposite side of the ground floor room, and when a space is made free Simon moves in, money in hand, to get the first round of drinks in.

“What can I get yer?” a barmaid says, spotting Simon almost immediately. She places LAZY JONES paper napkins on the bar in front of him as Simon shouts out his order. They have HiGlow on tap and he asks for two (for Kieren and, begrudgingly, himself), a JD and coke for Philip (he would have gone for Jameson’s himself, hold the coke. Sacrilege!) and a Midori and Lemonade for Amy (as it is bright green and can pass for HiGlow, so she still feels like she fits in with them even though she is now Re-Alive and no longer PDS.)

The women behind the bar fixes their drinks and places the plastic glasses on the napkins carefully, shouting out the price over the bar. It is too loud to hear over the noise, so Simon just hands her a twenty. When she comes back with the change, Kieren notices the appraising once over she gives Simon and feels a pang of jealousy. Tonight is going to be full of new experiences and he is not sure he is going to enjoy all of them.

The balcony has the best view of the floor, so they stand against the railings to get a feel for the place. Talking is out of the question and not being used to the dry ice, it makes Kieren and Philip’s throats sore. Amy meanwhile is dancing on the spot, her arm raised in the air as she sways to the music with her eyes closed.

Simon looks down at the scene in front of him and Kieren wonders absently if he is searching for faces he once knew. Apparently, he has never been to this particular club before, it was only converted into a club after The Rising, but it is clear he feels at home here. Surrounded by his own kind in a place he can be himself without having to be on guard to watch his or his company’s back at all times.

The current song morphs into another and the buzzing thrum that replaces it is like a heartbeat.

Kieren watches from the balcony as the whole floor seems to slow in unison. Those on the dance floor begin to sway in time to the beat as if in a meditative state.

A voice sounds over the speakers.

_For reasons yet to be determined, the bodies of the recently deceased are returning to life and attacking the living. The scope of this epidemic is now reaching global proportions..._

Then an electric voice chants, _Zombie, Zombie, Zombie, Zombie Nation,_ and the DJ in the booth above the dance floor - his hand cupped against his can headphones – shouts to the crowd, “Are you ready to kick some ass?”

The music starts to repeat its heavy repetitive tune and the dancers come to life. Together they sing along in unison, at a deafening volume, like a war cry.

_“Woah oh oh oh oh, woah oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh…”_

It is thrilling. It is terrifying.

It feels like they all have one voice, hundreds of people, but all are as one. They are an army; any army of the undead joining together and singing their anthem.

Kieren is in a different world and he drags his eyes away from the crowd to glance at Simon and Amy, who are both joining in. It is the song Simon talked about earlier in the queue; the song the club was named after.

He watches Simon closely, watching the light of the lazers dance over his features, the black light picking out the white of his eyes.

He is stunning.

Kieren turns Simon's face away from the floor below, forcing him to look back at Kieren. And then he kisses him.

So much for no public displays of affection as this was starting to become a habit.

Someone taps Kieren on the shoulder and he reluctantly pulls away from Simon.

"We’re going to go check out the other rooms,” Amy shouts directly in Kieren’s ear, so he can make out what she is saying. It tickles and Kieren shies away from her.

She gestures towards the stairs. “Yer coming?”

He nods and grasps Simon’s hand, intertwining their fingers together and pulling him after Amy and Philip who are already, by this point, several people in front of them.

 

The stairs are quieter and although they still have to raise their voices to be heard, they can at least talk now.

“So, what d’ya think? It’s blooming _amazing_ , don’t yer think?” Amy says to Kieren, slipping her hand through his arm as they climb the stairs, weaving through those just hanging out on it and taking a breather.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Kieren shouts back, trying to look as enthusiastic as he can.

“Okay? It’s flipping _undeadtastic!”_ she laughs.

They corner the top of the stairs and Kieren catches a small blue bottle being handed over by a dealer to an undead punter out of the corner of his eye.

The music from downstairs is drowned out by the hard core heavy metal even before they push through the doors to the first floor room and when they get inside, it has a totally different vibe; all red light and those who occupy it are entirely in contrast to those in the electronica and techno room below.

_One - Nothing wrong with me,_

_Two - Nothing wrong with me,_

_Three - Nothing wrong with me,_

_Four - Nothing wrong with me…_

The music is far more to Kieren’s tastes, always being more interested in alternative anyway. He finds himself nodding his head unconsciously to the pulsing rhythm and mouths along to the lyrics.

_Now - Let the bodies hit the floor,_

_Let the bodies hit the floor,_

_Let the bodies hit the flooooor…._

Simon smiles.

“More your kinda thing?” he asks, leaning close to Kieren. In actual fact it was more Simon’s kind of thing too. He used to be into bands like Nirvana and The Cult growing up, and even had signed posters of them on his wall as a teenager that he had picked up at gigs he went to.

“Definitely,” Kieren agrees, looking around him.

Booths section off the edges of the room and the circular bar in the centre has a huge chandelier hanging above it, twinkling red sparkles as the light reflects off of the crystal.

A woman passes them wearing a black leather buckled corset, fishnet tights and thigh high boots. She has a different contact lens in each of her eyes; one black and one red, to match the shades of her hair. Kieren follows her with his eyes as she joins a group in a corner booth, but looks away when she straddles a bloke with blue tipped spikey hair and eyeliner, and passes what looks distinctly like sheep’s brains to him her mouth.

“Definitely!” Kieren repeats, downing the rest of his drink.

Philip looks even less at home on this floor than he did in the previous one and gestures the universal sign of ‘Want another drink?’ to the other three. They all nod and he wanders off, giving people as wide a birth as he can, to get to the bar while Amy spots a booth that is being vacated and nabs it before anyone else has chance to move in. Her skirts flow over the curve of the red leather sofa, but moves over to make room as Kieren and Simon join her.

“Your Jem would love this, I bet,” she says to Kieren, watching out for Philip to reappear from the crowd.

“What?” Kieren shouts back. Honestly, he cannot hear a thing.

 _“YOUR – JEM – WOULD – LOVE – THIS!”_ she shouts again to him, over accentuating the words with her lips and flailing her arms around her head, referring to the room.

Kieren gets her meaning.

“Oh, yeah. She would,” he agrees, nodding his head like one of those Churchill dogs in the back of cars, so she understands him.

“Will have to bring her sometime?”

Kieren shakes of his head; he did not catch any of that.

Amy shrugs her shoulders in defeat, before standing and waving to Philip an, ‘over here’, after spotting him emerging from the bar with four drinks carried precariously in his hands.

They watch the huge TV screens showing the accompanying music videos to the songs playing for a bit and drink their drinks, none of them attempting to make further conversation. Kieren is getting close to head banging now and is singing at the top of his lungs to the music.

_I feel it deep within,_

_It's just beneath the skin,_

_I must confess that I feel like a monster,_

_I hate what I've become,_

_The nightmare's just begun,_

_I must confess that I feel like a monster…_

Kieren apparently knows every word and he is practically buzzing. Simon cannot take his eyes off him.

_I, I feel like a monster,_

_I, I feel like a monster..._

He is totally oblivious to his surroundings, immersing himself in the song, until a lad about his age - well probably older as he looks the age Kieren is now, so in actual fact is likely to be in his late twenties, being The Rising was five years ago now - walks past their booth. He looks like a model, all high cheekbones and pouting lips. He is as thin as you like too and wears skinny jeans with a shirt that fits where it touches, which only draws attention to his wiry toned body. His hair is razor cut at the sides, but longer at the top, and it falls into his eyes. He epitomises what is known as heroin chic – and after a brief glance at Kieren, he clocks Simon and stares directly at him as he passes, not even trying to hide it.

“I’ve had enough of this room,” Amy shouts over to Philip. “Let’s go see what the second floor is like.”

Although Kieren is enjoying the music, he is keen to move away from Skinny Jeans, before he gets any ideas and tries to speak to Simon.    

They push their way through to the doors and climb the second set of stairs.

“Think yer might have pulled there?” Kieren says to Simon now they can at least hear themselves think.

“What?” Simon asks as he lets Kieren squeeze past the two women snogging each other’s faces off on the stairs.

“That lad in there? Didn’t yer notice?”

“I don’t see any lads,” Simon winks at him. “Except the one I’m looking at right now.”

Kieren smiles back, but he is still a little ruffled by the experience. The one good thing about Roarton; no one was going to be making a pass at Simon anytime soon. In the city though, as he had always known, things were quite different. He had imagined that that was a good thing, but now, he was not so sure.

 

The next floor is playing dance music, and a remix of Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ is pumping out over the crowd, but Kieren’s attention is on an extremely impressive floor to ceiling cinema screen that has been erected behind the dance floor.

It is showing scenes from various films, new and old, and as he watches, it takes him a moment to notice all the actors are mostly undead and he realises the films are actually pastiches. One clip ends and another comes on the screen with a title card that reads, Fifty Shades of Dead. The scene opens to a bound and blindfolded young female and an undead male, his post-mortem scars plainly on show, while he strokes a black leather riding crop down her pink fleshy skin, before pulling it back and spanking her hard with it.

“Seen something you like,” Simon breathes into Kieren’s ear from behind him.

Kieren is sure he is blushing now, despite his capillaries not being able to fill with blood.

He shakes his head quickly. “Nah, never really got stuff like that?”

Simon’s body is still pressed up hard against his back in the limited space they are standing.

“Shouldn’t knock it, ‘til ye tried it.”

Kieren wonders – and not for the first time – exactly what Simon got up to in his past life.

Lady Gaga is still preaching her musical sermon over the speakers,

_Whether life's disabilities,_

_Left you outcast, bullied, or teased,_

_Rejoice and love yourself today,_

_'cause baby you were born this way..._

If Kieren were listening to the lyrics, he might find them quite apt suddenly, but his mind is fixed firmly on Simon’s possible implied revelation.

He turns his body, to get a better look a Simon’s face. The expression he is wearing is amused and Kieren realises Simon is teasing him.

“So, that’s what you used to get up to then, was it?” Kieren asks, deciding to play along. “What do they call it?”

“BDSM.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sado masochism. Plenty of sado masochists we know back in Roarton!”

Never mind Pearl Pinder suggesting PDS get up to all sorts behind closed doors, maybe some of the HVF veterans were setting up dungeons in their basements now they did not have an avenue to work off their blood lust?       

Simon is thinking about getting another round, but the HiGlow is obviously starting to have an effect on Kieren and he is still talking.

“Why would anyone enjoy someone hurting them? Roleplaying violent fantasies like being kidnapped and raped and stuff? It's a bit sick.”

"It’s about power exchange, Kieren. Trusting someone enough to submit to them and allow their dominance over you.”

Simon spots a space at the bar, but Kieren puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

“But still, rape? Surely there’s a line?”

Simon steps in closer to Kieren again to be heard over the music. His lips brush the skin of Kieren’s neck as he speaks.

“It’s not rape though, is it? It’s consensual. All that particular fantasy is, is one person handing over complete power to the other. The _victim_ isn’t the victim at all; they’re offering themselves to their partner and saying. 'take all the pleasure ye want from me.'”

Kieren was not sure if it was the HiGlow, what Simon was saying, or just the proximity of him, but suddenly the end of the night and hotel room they had waiting for them, could not come quick enough.

“Because when ye do that, Kieren, in actual fact, it’s _you_ that has all the power. All that attention, all that focus, all that pleasure. In that moment, nothing else exists for the other person, but you.”

Kieren begins to wonder how this explanation went from the general to the personal all of a sudden. Was Simon imagining him as the submissive, while he the dominant? Kieren tries to pretend to himself that the idea does not excite him. Just a little.

Simon pulls back now and their faces are at such close proximity, his next words almost vibrate against Keiren’s lips.

“Don’t ye see” It’s the submissive that’s the powerful one. The dominant’s power is a mirage. They are but a slave to their desire for the other.”

“Well,” Keiren clears his throat. His eyes are wide and Simon is sure, as impossible as he knows it is, Kieren’s pupils are dilated. “When yer put it like that, I suppose there might be some merit in it.”

 

“You guys?!!”

Amy says, crashing into them both and hanging both arms around their shoulders. “Will the both of yer stop looking so mizzy! We’re meant to be enjoying ourselves here!”

Kieren considers explaining that the look on his face is not him being miserable, but… actually, no. Even slightly intoxicated, he thinks better of it.

Amy has already moved on though and wastes no time in grabbing Kieren and then reaching for Philip by the wrist, to drag them both to the dance floor with her. Kieren glances over his shoulder at Simon as he is pulled away into the throng and Simon points towards the bar, before they disappear out of sight completely.

He finds an opening at the end of the bar, which curves around in an L-shape. The floor to ceiling speakers are at the end of the room and the height of the bar shields him a little from the music, enough to hear the barman at least when he orders the drinks.

The music playing now has changed into ‘Insomnia’ by Faithless and Simon is reminded of going clubbing in the 90’s when this first came out. Back in the day when he would arrive at a club at 12am and dance through to 9am in the morning, fuelled by Ecstasy or Speed, or whatever else he was offered on the night. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Then again, it was, literally.

“An’t seen you ‘er before,” someone says next to him.

Simon turns his head to look at the lad standing beside him at the bar. He has a strong Manchester accent and has the look of a model - all high cheekbones and skinny jeans – or he would, if he were not such a Scally Simon can see that he is under all that designer gear.

“Cos, I would’a remembered you, right, if yer had. Always remember fit blokes, me,” Skinny Jeans continues, all pouting lips and pale skin. “I clocked yer when you was downstairs with your mates.”

“Is that right?” Simon says in a monotone, somewhat unimpressed and trying to catch the barman’s attention with a twenty-pound note.

“I’ll get ‘em. What yer having?” he says eagerly, squeezing his hand into his jeans pocket for his money.

“S’okay. I’m getting a round in for _me mates_ ,” Simon replies, copying his acute observation.

“How about I just get you a drink then? I’m having a shot of Water of Lethe.” He nods to the blue bottle at the end of the optics. “Yer tried it?”

Simon shakes his head. He has never heard of it before. He knows the name though. It comes from Greek mythology. Lethe was a river that ran through the Underworld. The word literally translates as meaning ‘oblivion’ or ‘forgetfulness’. It is clearly a PDS only drink and going by its name, Simon considers that trying it would probably be a mistake.

“Oh, it’s well mint. Only can get it ‘ere though, as it’s exclusive to LAZY JONES, in’t it.”

If this is a seduction technique, he has picked the wrong man.

The barman comes over and nods for Simon to give him his order. He asks for the same as before.

“And two Lethes an’ all too with that, right,” Skinny Jeans adds. Cheeky bastard.

Simon adds another tenner to the twenty nonetheless and hands it over. Skinny Jeans gets full points for sheer barefaced audacity at the very least.

“What’s ye name?”

“Jay,” Skinny Jeans replies. “So yer shagging one of those mates of yours yeah, or what?”

The barman, places the row of drinks in a line in front of them and Jay reaches for his immediately and takes a big gulp. Simon watches, somewhat fascinated. It has been a long time since he has been chatted up by anyone on a night out and he cannot help but feel a little flattered.

“Something like that,” he answers. Kieren and he are doing a little more than just “shagging” as far as he is concerned.

Jay nods toward the blue liquid in the plastic glass. “An’t yer gonna try it, then?”

Simon knows he should do no such thing, but there is something about talking with Jay that makes him feel – well, normal. No not normal, Simon never had felt normal, but, well alive again. Like the last five years never happened. They were both PDS, but that was the _norm_ here after all.

He picks up the glass and holds it up for a moment, just watching the light make patterns against the liquid, before putting it to his lips and swallowing it in a single mouthful. Jay grins back as Simon puts the glass down, and nods at the barman, pointing at the Lethe optic again and holding two fingers up for a couple more.

“So, which one of yer mates is it, yer doing then? Cos, I know it an’t the girl,” he says with a cheeky grin that lights up his face. “My money’s on the well fit red ‘ead.”

“Very perceptive.”

The barman puts two more shots of Lethe in front of them and Jay gives him the money. He picks up his, clinks Simon's glass with it and downs the blue liquid. Simon does the same.

“Really? Nice one," Jay says, pulling a face as he swallows the Lethe and puts the empty glass back on the bar. "I’d have him, me, only I prefer the more mature bloke,” he points out, looking up at Simon through his long eyelashes.

This is getting a bit out of hand, and the Water of Lethe is strong.

Simon goes to pick up his ordered drinks to find the others, but before he does Jay grabs him, pulling his face down and kisses him hard.

Simon stumbles back, pressing both hands firmly on Jay’s chest to push him off. What the fuck?!

Jay looks anything but undeterred by Simon's reaction though, and if anything, looks more than a little chuffed with himself.

He licks his lips.

“Delicious.”

 

Amy is standing not six foot away and sees all of it.

She hangs back for a moment to see what Simon will do next, but he looks part way stunned and the other part livid. She has seen enough.

“Yer alright?” Amy asks, pushing herself in-between them and glaring at the Scally. “I’m gasping and Kieren was wondering where yer got to. Thought I’d come see what was keeping yer.”

Simon looks at the floor trying to avoid her gaze. He has done nothing wrong, but still.

“Who’s this? Yer made a new friend I see?” If looks could kill, then Jay would be dead and buried for a second time.

“This is, er,” Simon is flustered and takes a moment to recall his name. God, that Lethe is strong, even for him.

“I’m Jay,” Jay says.

Amy remains deadpan. “Charmed.”

“Yeah, Jay,” Simon repeats, trying to catch up.

Amy takes her and Philip’s drinks from the bar, and hooks her arms around Simon’s while he follows suit and picks up his and Kieren’s.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure Jay, but Simon doesn’t want to keep his boyfriend waiting.” And then for added effect, just so Jay gets the message, “His name’s Kieren by the way, and he’s _bloody gorgeous!”_

“Yeah, I saw he weren’t no munter, upstairs,” Jay agrees.

Amy pulls Simon by the arm, dragging him away before she has second thoughts and decides to deck this bloke.

Simon is still looking a little dazed and quite out of character. “Mr Disciple, come on will yer?”

Jay picks up on the name. His eye’s grow wide with a spark of recognition.

“Disciple? Like, an Undead Prophet disciple? Yer part of the ULA?” Jay questions, barely concealing his excitement.

Amy and Simon are already pushing their way through the queue to get to the bar though, and do not hear his question.

 

Kieren and Philip are still on the dance floor when Amy and Simon come back to join them. They hand over the drinks and move to the side.

“You took yer time?” Kieren says to Simon as he takes the drink from him. "I probably shouldn't have this, yer know? I'm feeling quite pissed. Anyway, thought you’d had a better offer?”

Simon looks at him. Does he know? But Kieren is all warm smiles and soft eyes.

“Told ye, I only see you.” Simon repeats his confession to him earlier. And he means it. Absolutely.

“That’s alright then,” Kieren smiles back before Simon's lips are on his; one long, hard, reaffirming kiss. He does not want anyone else. Not now, not ever.

Amy’s enthusiasm for the evening appears to be waning fast.

“Yer wanna try the third floor? Think it’s all reggae or something?” Philip asks her, trying to raise his voice over the music enough to be heard.

“Nah, think I’ve had enough to be honest. After these, think we should go,” she answers, sloshing her drink and looking directly at Simon and Kieren as they continue to snog like teenagers. "Probably best we get love birds here, back to the hotel sooner rather than later, going by the look of them."

Philip looks surprised, but does not argue. He is happy to leave whenever she is ready. It has been… interesting, but he would rather be back in their hotel room and have Amy all to himself. Wonder if they have cable on the telly? He is more of a wild – okay then, quiet - night in man himself at heart, anyway.

And going by the expression on Simon’s face when he came back with Amy a minute ago, Philip begins to wonder if Simon is too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I began this story, I decided that I would leave Kieren and Simon to their privacy and leave their bedroom door closed. For Amy and Philip, you only see them ‘after the match’ as it were, and so it felt authentic to canon that it was the right approach for Kieren and Simon too. (Plus, although I’ve kept away from other In The Flesh fanfictions while writing this for fear of being influenced, I have no doubt that there are plenty out there that explore Kieren and Simon’s more intimate moments.) But the fact my beta has now renamed Amy, Simon and Kieren's home, 'The Bonkfest Bungalow', I'm going to ignore!
> 
> I recall an interview with Ewan McGregor on the Graham Norton Show a year or so ago - an actor who has done his fair share of explicit sex scenes on film – where he said he was only comfortable with doing those type of scenes if they were relevant to the story and not just gratuitous. Well, to my surprise I found that including such a scene, albeit not overly explicit in nature, was relevant to both the telling of this story and the character’s development in it. 
> 
> Throughout this story I have only gone so far in language, violence or sex that I believe could be shot for a BBC drama to be shown after 10pm. Some fanfictions are wish fulfilments and filling in the gaps where the screen can’t go, but I have tried to stay as true to the series as I can with this story and I don’t think anything I have written, providing it was shot correctly, would be inappropriate for a series broadcast after the 9pm watershed. Simon and Kieren are a couple and just like Amy and Philip they would have sex, so as I have not gone into detail – I’ll leave that to your imagines to fill in the gaps - I think I’d get away with it. 
> 
> There is of course the obvious physical problem of how does a man have sex when he doesn’t have blood pumping through his veins? (Although this certainly hasn’t stopped vampires in recent years in series such as True Blood and Vampire Diaries – Edward Cullen can even procreate by Breaking Dawn!!) This is especially an issue as In The Flesh states that PDS cannot feel anything physically, so it’s not only a stumbling block for partially deceased males, but why on earth would Amy sleep with Phil if she couldn’t feel anything at all? I can understand her ‘going through the motions’ when she was emotionally involved with Philip in series 2 for his pleasure, but he was just a one stand for her in series 1 which seems to me a bit pointless from her point of view if this is the case. Guess she was just trying it out? So, as canon seems to have a loophole when it comes to sex with their zombie mythology, I’m not going to argue and instead make the most of it. If the undead are capable of having sexual relationships with one another, then at this point, Simon and Kieren will have exactly that type of relationship too.
> 
> Oh and while we’re on the subject, although I believe in safe sex to protect against pregnancy or STDs, I can’t see these are really issues for the partially deceased - although I did notice the brothel’s bedside table draws are stocked with condoms and Femiwash of all things - go production design! - but that is perhaps because the living are clients?
> 
> Finally to explain the, er, anatomy conversation. I really wanted Amy to be able to start to have some of those experiences she missed out on during her first life, and being able to have silly girly chats was one of them. As she doesn't really have any female friends at present, Kieren would have to do. I thought about the topic of conversation I had experienced during various hen do's, and one stood out for me as being the most embarrassing, so thought Kieren could share in some of that awkwardness. And as for Simon, well he shares Emmett Scanlan’s voice, face and body, right? Search YouTube for “Emmett J Scanlan in Savage”, and that’s all I’m saying!
> 
> So enough about sex - considering I wasn’t even going to include it, I’ve talked a great deal about it now - and after the above, I suspect I’ve lost most of you to YouTube anyway, but Simon's feelings towards women were inspired by some very positive experiences I had while in Dublin last month. I have never visited a place where men were so polite and considerate towards women. Perhaps I was just lucky, but I will forevermore think of an Irishman as a true gentleman.
> 
> Finally, for those of you who have come to In The Flesh as Hollyoaks fans, there’s a nod to Stendan’s first kiss with the song Insomnia, and I had a particular actor in mind for Jay too who will be familiar to those who watch the soap. 
> 
> As always, thank you to all who left comments and Kudos; those who are on this journey with me and keep me supported and motivated; and all you bookmarkers out there, I really appreciate you all.
> 
> Anyway, lots of love, moust-dash! - as Brendan Brady would say.


	8. And Fade Out Again

Kieren is certain he has a hangover.

It is the first thing that runs through his head when he wakes in the morning. Well, that and the stabbing pain he feels when Simon speaks to him in anything above a whisper.

Then again, Simon does not look that great either. He said something last night about having a couple of shots at the bar while Kieren and Philip were on the dance floor. They had both come to the conclusion on the way home in the taxi – once they had found one that would take PDS fares – that the potent blue liquid in the bottle at the end of the optics, aptly named Water of Lithe, was more than likely spiked with a trace of Blue Oblivion. The exclusive liquor was certainly suspicious and Kieren was just glad he had downed a shot or two of the stuff along with Simon.

Not that he was anywhere near close to suffering any of the effects of the illegal drug and hardly in danger of turning rabid any time soon, but Simon was no lightweight; not after the life he had led. In fact, even drinking them on top of all the HiGlow they had sank - which as it turns out, happened to be a concentrated version rather than the regular bottled sort distributed to pubs and bars around the country - and so two shots should not have affected him so badly. But when that lad - Jay was it? - had made a pass at him, he had been too slow to avoid the kiss. He was only glad it had been Amy who had gone looking for him at the bar instead of Kieren, as otherwise the night could have ended very differently.

 

Kieren is already showered and dressed by the time Simon rifles through his bag looking for whatever it is he is looking for, and heads into the bathroom. He almost misses it, but the white Irisalways contact lens case catches Kieren’s eye, and then he notices the cover-up mousse and sponge applicator in Simon’s other hand. He had been flicking through the morning telly, but presses the standby button on the remote control, prompting th e picture to disappear and fade to black as he does so.

The bathroom door is not shut and Simon catches Kieren looking at the items he has retrieved. He self-consciously purses his lips in an almost smile back at Kieren through the bathroom mirror, before fixing his gaze at the floor. Kieren can see by his mirrored reflection that he looks almost ashamed.

“It’s for…” Simon mumbles in a feeble attempt at an explanation, but cannot finish the sentence.

Kieren is surprised. To say this was unlike Simon would be an understatement. Simon, as long as Kieren has known him anyway, has always been so comfortable with who he is; what he is. In the time he had known him, Simon had only worn contacts and cover-up once, and that was for Kieren when he introduced him to his parents for the first time. It was the ‘getting to know him’ stage of their relationship and Simon had been willing in order to try to better understand the world Kieren came from.

Simon was not someone who needed to fit in, if anything he went out of his way to do the exact opposite and not comply with any form of dictatorship, but for Kieren he was willing to buckle under. For Kieren, he would put aside everything he believed, to be with him.

But perhaps, Kieren was not the only one who he was willing to do that for? He wanted to be accepted – and forgiven – by his father, but if that was even possible, it would have to be done by taking baby steps and not a full charge assault.

“Yer don’t want yer dad to see yer like this,” Kieren spoke the words for him.

Simon looked up for a moment and shook his head.

“No. No I don’t,” he answered quietly. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Simon, it’s okay, yer know? It’s probably for the best anyway, if yer see him looking…” Better be careful here. Kieren swallows before finishing, “As he remembers you.”

Simon listens to the words meant to make him feel better; the words that allow the pressure to ease just a little. But that is not Simon and today is made all the worse, because he always stays strong. He has people that depend on him - people he cares about that rely on him to be their emotional rock - so no matter the situation, he is always confident, always in control, but not now.

Not today. Not when it comes to this.

Because when it comes to his dad, Simon is a different person and it is taking Kieren some time to recognise this side of him as belonging to the same person he has come to know so well.

 

Kieren could not imagine how difficult this was going to be for Simon. He had not seen his father, Iain Monroe, in such a long time and they had parted on the worst terms imaginable. Could someone even get over something like that in time?

The world had come to understand PDS a little more in the five years that had passed, but was it enough for his father to understand that the Rabid that came home that night after The Rising was not who Simon really was. He was in his untreated state and unmedicated. If it were a court of law, he would be able to plead diminished responsibility, but Kieren knew Simon was not looking for a way out. He would not allow excuses for himself. He had come home and killed his mother and that was all there was to it as far as he was concerned.

Never mind the fact that even now Simon still could not remember the event, and again, if he were living, there would be a term for that too. They call it Dissociative Amnesia.

Kieren had looked it up online when Simon first told him. He had read on the NHS website that in situations such as Simon’s, the memories almost certainly still existed but were so deeply buried within that person’s mind that they could not be recalled. The memories might, however, resurface on their own over time or after being triggered by something in the person’s surroundings. Simon had already returned to his family home once before and he could not remember anything of that night past clawing his way out of the grave, so Kieren was doubtful a second visit would make any difference now.

The Rising had left many living and undead with emotional and mental scars - in addition to their physical ones - so why was it only the living were considered eligible for mental therapy treatments? During his time at Norfolk they were forced to openly share their experiences and explore their emotional responses to certain things in a group, as if they were attending an AA meeting, but that was as far as it went. And even that was far more than Simon had experienced, as after being used as a lab rat he had been discharged from the Treatment Centre. The moment he refused to continue to be the subject of Halperin & Weston’s experiments, he had been packed off home with his father. No advice was given, no precautions put in place should anything go wrong. He was not useful to them anymore and had been sent away, totally vulnerable and unprepared, into this damaged new world.

There were no Cognitive or Psychotherapy, and certainly no Clinical Hypnosis offered. From a research point of view alone, there surely would have been some scientific ground to be covered, even if the benefit of such treatments for the patient was just a by-product of such undertaken studies.

Kieren had looked all those up too; treatments that aimed to help a person ‘safely express and process painful memories, develop new coping and life skills, restore functioning, and improve relationships’. It sounded exactly what a PDS Sufferer needed once the Neurotriptyline kicked in, and not just for Simon, but for all of them.

 

Kieren remains sitting on the bed and watches Simon without offering further comment as he stretches each eyelid open and presses the blue contacts onto his eyes, one and then the other, concealing each undead iris. Next to be applied is the cover-up mousse, but Simon fumbles with the lid as he tries to get it open. His nerves are failing, finally get the better of him.

“Want some help?” Kieren asks, in the doorway now.

He does not wait for an answer, just silently takes the pot of mousse from Simon’s hands. No effort is made to stop him – if anything, relief washes over Simon’s features - and their fingers touch briefly, lingering over the contact during the exchange.

Kieren is far more practiced at applying the camouflage than Simon and he unscrews the lid and places it down on the edge of the sink. Next he takes the applicator sponge from him and dabs it into the mouse. As he does so, he thinks of the first time he saw Simon with cover-up on.

 

It was last December and they had walked to his parent’s house. Kieren had realised the position he was putting Simon in, and so told him over and over again that he did not have to do this and they could just forget the whole thing. Even if that was what Simon had wanted at the time, he dug his heels in and refused to be given a free pass. He had kept his chin up all the way there in determination and braved out what was to come. The lunch was important; it was his chance to prove to Kieren how far he was prepared to go in order to prove his promise of giving him anything he could to make him happy. They had stopped several times on the way. The first for Kieren to thank him, for which Simon was rewarded with an unexpected kiss – in those days all of Kieren’s kisses tended to come unexpectedly for Simon, but were always gratefully received - and the second to help him clean up the poor job he had made of his face.

All PDS made the mistake of plastering too much cover-up on when they first started using it, which gave the impression they had been sunning themselves in the Bahamas during their rabid state. With Kieren’s naturally pale complexion, while alive, he never tanned easily and although the cover-up mousse was undeniably good stuff – Jem was always stealing pots of it to cover up her spots – the ‘one colour fits all’ bronze hue (okay, orange then!) stood out like a sore thumb if applied too heavily. It had taken Kieren some time to figure out just the right amount that would conceal his undead skin, but not look as if he had lost a fight with a fake tan bottle.

 

Kieren puts what he has learnt into practice now and applies the mousse sparingly. He traces the contours of Simon’s face with the sponge. Beginning with his temples, he strokes the mousse across his cheekbones, over his jaw and down to his neck as his pale skin begins to vanish under a thin veil of the cover-up. Simon does not look at him as he works, but only stares back at his own reflection through the mirror as the undead Simon Monroe disappears before his eyes and a replica of who he once was emerges slowly.

“There,” Kieren says as he finishes the job on his face. “Think you’ll do.”

Simon takes a long hard look at himself, while Kieren works on his hands.

“Thank you.” Simon smiles, but not through happiness.

He is grateful for Kieren’s help, grateful for his understanding, and most importantly, grateful he does not judge him.

“I wish I’d of known you when yer were alive,” Kieren muses, as he works on the inside of Simon’s wrists where his cuffs meet the skin there.

Kieren looks as surprised as Simon by the statement and cringes inwardly at not censoring himself in time. He certainly did not mean to say that.

Simon shakes his head and he genuinely looks sad now.

“No ye don’t, Kieren. I wasn’t the same man back then.”

“Nor was I. Maybe if we’d have met sooner, things might not have turned out the way they did?”

“Maybe,” Simon shrugs, “But they turned out alright in the end. Never forget that. Small mercies and all, ay?”

Kieren replaces the lid on the mouse and puts it down with the sponge on the sink.

“I won’t,” Kieren promises. “’New life’, that’s what yer said to me first time we met, do you remember? Yer said, we’ve ‘been given a new life’, and now finally, _finally_ , it feels like it’s actually beginning to start.”

“It’s there, just waiting for us. Need to be patient, is all.”

“Don’t run before yer can walk, yer mean?”

Simon takes Kieren’s hands in his own and runs his thumbs over the cool skin of his knuckles leaving a smudge of cover-up it his wake.

He nods. “Baby steps.”

 

\---

 

“I can’t believe I forget to bring it,” Amy is telling Philip when Kieren and Simon arrive in the restaurant of ‘The Toad and Crown’ next door to their hotel.

They have finished breakfast and are sitting in front of empty plates. Most of the tables around them are vacant as it is almost ten-thirty and service is coming to an end.

“It’ll be okay. It’s just a single dose, can’t make that much difference, surely? I mean, yer not going to turn back just from missing one shot,” Philip reassures her. Then adds, a little less convinced, “Are yer?”

“Nah, don’t think so. Probably just being silly,” Amy agrees, but the way she says it sounds suspiciously like hope, rather than fact. “I mean I missed a dose or two when I was back in the commune and never went rabid then.”

She laughs and Philip does likewise, obviously somewhat relieved. With a face like his, he was hopeless at lying or concealing his feelings.

“Like yer say, sure it’ll fine,” she concludes before noticing Simon and Kieren approaching. “Hey you two, what d’ya know then?”

“Not much,” Kieren replies as they both sit down – Simon next to Amy and Kieren next to Philip - in the empty seats on opposite sides of the table. “How about you?”

“Same. Got a stinking hangover though.”

Philip had thought to bring along aspirin for their trip, but they were yet to take effect. Still, the full English fry-up they had just polished off had helped settle their stomachs a little.

A waitress comes over to clear the plates from the table. Seeing Kieren and Simon have joined them, she takes out a pad and pen from her pocket and poises it, ready to take their orders.

They are both wearing cover-up and contact lenses.

“What’ll yer have?” she asks, oblivious to the fact they are PDS. “The menu’s on the table, but would yer like tea or coffee first?”

“Sorry, breakfast’s not really our thing,” Kieren smiles at her.

Shrugging, she puts the items back into her pocket and takes away the plates away to the kitchen.

“Well she should’a gone to Specsavers!” Amy says, “Hey, yer know what? Maybe she’s trying to get her own back on whoever has to clean the men’s bogs…”

She turns to look at Simon and stops midsentence.

“Oh my God!” she gasps, “Look at you, all glammed up. Looking very gorgeous, gorgeous! Bet yer got a few Pulse Beaters heart’s racing on yer way over here?”

Philip frowns at the Pulse Beater description, but says nothing. Not only was he himself a ‘Pulse Beater’, but technically Amy was too these days - if by Pulse Beater it meant someone whose heart was beating.

“S’no big deal,” Simon responds, trying to play down the fact that this is the first time Amy has ever seen him wearing cover-up. He spent so long as a disciple, trying to encourage the Redeemed to take it off, it seems damn near hypocritical to wear it himself.

“Course not, but… well, _wow!”_ she continues, taking in his appearance. “Never knew yer had blue eyes? Suits yer.”

Simon looks less than enthusiastic at being subjected to such close scrutiny.

“Okay, okay. Take a good look then.” He does not add that she should commit it to memory, as he will not be wearing it again in a hurry.

“So what’s all this in aid of?”

“Off to see me dad, aren’t I,” Simon reminds her.

In all her excitement, Amy had clearly forgotten the part of the conversation Simon and Kieren were having, earlier in the week, as to why they were planning a trip to the city at all as it was certainly not to go to some club.

“Of course. Sorry.”

And she does look sorry. Sorry for letting something so important slip her mind and sorry for Simon for having to go through this at all.

The four of them sit in silence for a moment.

“So,” Amy pipes up again, somewhat more breezily, “Today’s the big day, then? Thought about what yer going to say?”

Philip coughs, but it sounds a lot like “AMY!”

“What?” she asks him, neither noticing his subtlety nor abiding by it.

“Well, it’s just, maybe Simon doesn’t want to talk about it?”

But Simon does not look like he minds. He knows that is just Amy’s way.

“S’okay,” he tells Philip, and then to Amy, in answer to her question, “In truth, I have no idea what I’m going to say. Will just see when we get there, I suppose.”

Amy lays her hand on Simon’s and squeezes it gently.

“You’re his son. It’ll work out, guarantee it.”

Simon squeezes back.

“We’ll see.”

Silence falls on the group again and Amy begins to tap her fingernails in an irregular beat against the cheap china of the coffee mug in front of her.

“Hands up who thinks their hangover was totally worth it,” Amy announces suddenly, nodding at Philip who takes the hint and raises his hand precariously while Amy stretches both her arms in the air. Kieren’s arm gets yanked skyward too when he does not comply, but she leaves Simon alone at least.

Simon is miles away anyway. Extracting his hand from Amy’s, Kieren reaches under the table so no one else will notice and gently touches Simon’s knee. When he looks up, Kieren mouths, “You Okay?” at him.

It takes a moment, but eventually Simon gives him a reassuring smile and then a wink for good measure, but it does little to alleviate Kieren’s growing concern for him.

Amy rolls her eyes at the pair.

“Would you two just get a room, please? Honestly, Philly and me may as well not be here.”

“We’ve just come from our room,” Kieren points out.

“Might want to think about going back there then. Yer could work off all those calories yer just had for breakfast?”

If there is one thing Amy Dyer is brilliant at, it is lightening a mood.

“Honestly, you two should have an 18 certificate plastered on yer foreheads. It’s totally shocking the way some people behave,” but her attempt at an appalled tone of voice fools no one.

“We should probably make a move ourselves,” Philip points out as he pushes his chair back to stand and shrugs on his coat as a big a hint as he can manage.

“Off for a bit of retail therapy,” she tells the others before rising from her own chair and wrapping her coat around her. “Come on then you, yer big handsome hunk of stuff.”

Philip automatically looks behind him to see whom Amy is referring to.

“I mean _you_ , yer great ninny!”

\---

 

Philip offered them a lift to Iain Monroe’s address, but Simon had declined the offer saying he preferred to walk. It would give him time to mentally prepare for what was ahead, and Kieren was happy to go along with whatever Simon wanted – or needed under the circumstances – and Philip must have understood too because he did not press the matter.

They are already on the right side of the city at least, but the walk is hardly scenic, even when Simon and Kieren pass through a park in the crisp spring mid-morning air, hidden amongst the concrete jungle of shops and office blocks. Everything here is grey. The sky is grey, the light is grey, the buildings are grey, the streets are grey. Even the atmosphere of the city feels grey. There are few people around and for a Saturday, a day usually filled with retail frenzy, it feels strange.

The Rising has left its mark on their surroundings. Kieren had not noticed it the night before, but now in the daylight, the past horrors of what took place are plain to see. The city that bore witness to the war casts darks shadows around every corner.

Many of the shops have thick metal sheets covering their entrances, and the glass windows of floors above are either smashed or boarded up with chipboard wedged firm against the frames from the inside. Some have survived, but they become fewer as they journey further away from the city centre. The offices and other businesses have not faired much better, and spray painted warnings in brightly coloured graffiti still adorn the outside of those that have not yet been renovated.

The country’s economy took a battering after The Rising, and even five years on, things are pretty bleak and there’s no money to bring things up again. Businesses went under, people lost their jobs, and all faith was lost in the British Government as they struggled to contain over one hundred and forty thousand risen dead around the country. Social security, the National Health Service, life insurance – Act of God did not seem to cover it - all went south and not in the soft Southern Fairies sort of way. In fact, London was hit hardest of all and while stock markets crashed around the world, it left both the FTSE and the Pound Stirling in dire straights. No one was investing, no one was buying, and no one was selling. Everyone was just trying to survive.

Thankfully many did, but others had not been so lucky and it was impossible to forget that fact now.

Public phone boxes and abandoned buildings are covered with missing posters of loved ones that are lost – some dead, some risen, perhaps wandering far from the city limits, still untreated, yet to be caught and sent to Norfolk – and their photos taken during happier times haunt those passing by, who regardless pretend to ignore their faces.

There are flowers too, and toys, rotten and weathered, left by friends and relatives who have marked the spot where someone fell. Roarton might have been through the mill, but five years ago feels a lot further away in the valley than it does here. Metropolises are usually brimming with life, but in December 2009, a city was the last place you wanted to be.

 

They have been walking for over an hour and Kieren has noticed Simon’s posture has changed. He is beginning to grow increasingly agitated and Kieren suspects that that must mean they are close now to his old home and where his father lives.

He follows Simon’s lead as they cross the road and round a corner of another nondescript street. There are iron railings in front of a tall hedge running down the side of the pavement, until suddenly they come to a break in the shrubbery with a tall open gate leading into a large city cemetery.

“This is a short cut,” Simon tells Kieren as they enter through the opening.

They make their way down the path, past the older graves with names and dates on gravestones eroded over time, and past the small mortuary chapel in the centre, its large oaks door locked and bolted. No new business today it seems.

There are no signs warning trespassers and no sign of the remnants of police tape cordoning off certain areas like Roarton’s old graveyard. There are no visitors either. The only other people around looks to be a couple of workman - is there such thing as a gravedigger anymore with the invention of the JCB? – and it is only as they start to get closer that they can see what they are working on.

A white Ford Transit van is parked on the side of the path and they stop at the sight of the two men hauling a newish gravestone into the back. One man is wearing a bright orange bib - the one who looks to be doing most of the work - is a Give Back worker, and as he goes back to the graveside the other, living, lights up a cigarette and leans on the side of the van to watch.

He notices Kieren and Simon as they approach.

“Yer looking for someone?” he calls out to them.

Neither answer until they have made it to the van and although Kieren cannot explain it, he feels relieved in that moment that they are both wearing cover-up, so it is not obvious at first glance that they too are PDS.

“Yeah, I am,” Simon says as he peers into the back of the van to see a large stack of similar gravestones and half rotten broken up coffins piled high down the length of the vehicle.

“Who yer looking for, they might be on me sheet,” the living workman says, putting the cigarette in his mouth to free both his hands. He pulls out a folded A4 sheet of paper out of his pocket. It has a list of names and plots running down both sides.

“Simon Monroe?” Simon Monroe answers.

Kieren sucks in a breath. It did not occur to him when they entered the cemetery that this was where Simon had been buried. He has sense enough to remain quiet and just lets the conversation play out.

“Monroe… Monroe,” he says, running through the names. “Be bloody useful if they’d put this shit in alphabetical order. He’s probably not even on here. What year d’he died?”

“2009,” Simon answers.

“Oh, he’ll definitely be on here then. Simon Monroe,” he continues, taking another puff on his cigarette without removing it from his mouth, and running his finger down the list. “Ah, there he is. Simon Monroe. Plot K17.”

Kieren automatically looks around as if they are in an airport car park and every section is signposted.

“You’re in luck mate. This whole area here is K. This is K4, so 17’s gotta be right over there, somewhere.”

He points to the left and both Kieren and Simon squint in that direction.

“Hey, Drop Dead Fred? Yer wanna go show them where it is?” he says to the Give Back workman. “It’s on our list anyway. May as well do it now before lunch. Well, lunch for me. Then you can make a start on J for when I get back.”

Fred plants his shovel into the disturbed earth of the now empty grave and gestures for them to follow them.

Simon lets Kieren go first and then follows closely behind.

“What are yer doing exactly?” Kieren asks as they walk.

“Removing all the headstones and coffins from the graves of those who rose. Council needs the space.” He rethinks his last comment and then corrects himself, “Or wants the money, more like. These plots cost a bomb.”

He scans the names on the granite stones as they walk.

“Think it must be over there,” Fred continues, crossing through a row of graves. “Don’t mean to be rude or nothing, Keith’s a right moron and wouldn’ta realised, but you two are PDS, right?”

“Yeah, we are,” Kieren confirms, following him over the grass.

“Nice to see a friendly face. Name’s Mick by the way.”

“Thought he said yer name was Fred?”

“Keith thinks he’s funny. That’s the Living for you. Oh, there it is, Simon Monroe,” Fred or Mick, or whatever his name is, nods a little further ahead of them.

Kieren is trying to see which gravestone he is referring to, but is distracted by Mick who is continuing to explain what they are doing here.

“Caused a right palaver with some of the relatives, this. Lots of these, whose graves we’re clearing,” he points to the empty spaces dotted in amongst still occupied graves, “Well let’s just say, they weren’t as fortunate as us. Be nothing left of them once we’re done here. Nothing to remember them by, poor bastards.”

Mick comes to a stop at a white polished granite gravestone with lettering carved and painted black onto the surface.

 

**In Loving Memory of Our Beloved Son**

**SIMON MONROE**

**1982 ~ 2009**

**_Requiescat In Pace_ **

 

The thick mud spills out onto the grass surrounding the open grave in dark clumps and there is a deep recess in the centre, where on that stormy December night, Simon had pushed himself through the soil and emerged from the earth.

“A mate of yours, was he?” Mick asks.

Kieren nods, looking over at Simon who is staring blankly at his own grave.

“Well, this is going today, so hope his family knows where he is or has some good memories to remember him by, otherwise it’ll be like he never existed.”

Kieren moves over to stand close to Simon, but his eyes never leave the gravestone. He realises this is probably the first time Simon has read what his parent’s chose as an inscription. It seems strange that he saw Kieren’s before he saw his own – or at least, can remember seeing his own.

“Christ, here comes dickhead now,” Mick grumbles. “Come to watch me do all the hard work, while he just stands there doing bugger all.”

Keith comes over, another cigarette in his mouth, and hands Mick the spade.

“Found it then?” he says to Kieren and Simon before turning to his co-worker. “What yer waiting for, hurry up, wanna go on lunch. My stomach thinks me throat’s been cut.”

Mick begins work on the earth around the gravestone and once he has dug down deep enough and cleared the area around it, Keith takes a last drag of his cigarette, tosses it on the ground in front of him on the exposed mud, and takes one side of the heavy granite stone, while Mick takes the other. They rock it back and forth until it gives and then wrench it from the ground, letting it crash with a loud thump onto the grass behind.

“Right, I’m off. That coffin’s gotta be out by the time I get back. And start on J too, like I said. We’ll take the van load to the dump after.”

Keith leaves and Mick begins digging. He is shovelling earth either side of the grave as Simon walks over to the toppled gravestone and reads the words over and over again in his head, as if to try and memorise them. Kieren gives him a minute alone before joining him.

He looks close to tears and Kieren cannot think of anything other than to take his hand. He presses his body close, but just having Kieren there is a comfort to him, as they both look down at all that remains of Simon’s first life.

_“Hope his family knows where he is or has some good memories to remember him by, otherwise it’ll be like he never existed.”_

Mick’s words echo through Simon’s mind and the irony of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Once upon a time, to have never existed was all Simon had ever wanted.

And it dawns on him, that now more than ever, his words to Kieren the year before have got to come true. They had to make a new life for themselves, because after today Simon may well learn that there is nothing at all left of his old one.

 

\---

 

Tracking down Iain Monroe was proving to be a little more difficult than Simon and Kieren had anticipated.

When they finally arrive at the house, Simon comes to an abrupt stop in front of the building. He stands motionless, just looking up at it and holding his breath, as if he were a statue. It is almost as if, now that they are there, he does not dare even take a single step further from the pavement onto the short and narrow concrete path that connects the entrance of the house to the outside world.

With the blue contact lenses and flesh coloured cover-up he wears - an imperfect copy of the living man he once was - Simon looks younger somehow; like a lost little boy now they were here. His whole demeanour has changed. He seems smaller all of a sudden, and the wholly confident Simon Monroe seems to shrink away into nothing, until all that is left is this shadow version of himself. It is a far cry by comparison to the one Kieren knows.

The front garden is a wreck, displaying pitiful threadbare turf and overgrown borders that make it difficult to distinguish between bramble and plant. The front gate has been left open and appears to have been left this way for some time, as the hinges have rusted so badly it is fused permanently ajar. Weeds and long grass protrude through cracks in the crumbling path and one of the front windows is boarded up.

Simon does not notice any of this. All he sees is the house he grew up in. The one his mother and father brought him to as a boy, when they moved to England from Ireland, and it is the home he had come back to, that fateful night during The Rising.

It is only when Kieren takes his hand again, it seems to stir him from his memories and it brings him back from wherever it was he had gone to.

He has to do this. He has to go through with it, no matter what the outcome.

The first knock on the door goes unanswered and fear begins to surge through Simon’s body while paranoia pours poison into his ear. It whispers cruel things that flood his mind with doubt and he has to summon the strength just to remain where he is and not to run.

They continue to wait in silence.

Is his father at home, listening at the door? Does he know who is standing on the other side of it, having caught a glimpse of his caller through the frosted glass, and is now refusing to answer?

Simon takes a deep breath and tries the doorbell again, knocking on the door so hard with his knuckles this time, it makes the pane of glass vibrate at the top of the wood.

Still no answer.

Eventually a neighbour sticks her head out of a door a few houses down. She tells them that if they are looking for Iain Monroe, he moved house six months ago. Simon asks if she knows his forwarding address. She nods and is hesitant at first in giving it to him, but he explains he is Iain’s son and she looks confused for a moment.

“Didn’t know he had another son?” she tells him.

So they knew then? Knew he died. Or maybe they knew he had come back? And what he had done when he did? Why was he even trying to build bridges, when really, they had been burnt so badly there was only ash left?

 

Suspicious or not, she gives them the address.

Kieren cannot tell if it is relief or disappointment on Simon’s face, because his father’s new home turns out to not be very far away at all. In fact, it is only two streets down, and as Simon is familiar with the surrounding area anyway, they easily find the address they have been given.

And that is how they find themselves standing in the porch of this second house. Only this time, this home has freshly mown green grass in the front garden and tidy, well tended flowerbeds, boasting flourishing red roses planted between the lavender bushes. There is even the odd daffodil or two, and the shocking yellow of the blooms is a stark contrast to the rest of the city’s grey. By the front door there is an outside doormat for visitors to wipe their feet on, spelling out the word WELCOME, and two miniature olive trees keep guard on each side.

Simon does not waste time now. He just wants to get it over and done with. What will be, will be after all.

He presses the door bell and they wait. There is a large glass window in the top half of the door and before he presses the button a second time, the blurry outline of someone appears in the hallway inside.

The door opens slowly.

A man in his fifties stands in front of them. His hair is dark and straight like Simon’s, and he wears a short trimmed beard that sports grey whiskers amongst the black. His features look weary, as if belonging to a man who has witnessed more than he would have liked to in his lifetime.

This man and Simon look at each other in silence until Simon eventually finds his voice to speak, but when he does, it comes out as barely a whisper.

“Hello dad.”

Iain Monroe looks back at his son. His gaze moves on to Kieren for a moment and then back to Simon, wide-eyed and unblinking, but he remains quiet.

Simon clears his throat and tries to smile, but it feels unnatural and pulls tightly at the skin on his face.

“You’ve moved. Didn’t know.”

Iain nods. “Aye, ‘bout six months ago now.”

“Yeah, I spoke to one of your old neighbours. She told me where ye were living now.”

“I see,” Iain says. He is calm and his tone is one of addressing a stranger. “Who’s this?”

Simon turns to Kieren. It is as if he has only just remembered his presence next to him, but when he smiles again, it feels genuine.

“Dad, this is Kieren.”

Kieren extends a hand and Iain looks at it as if the gesture is alien to him and is not sure what to do with it.

“Nice to meet you…” Kieren says tentatively.

Iain remembers his manners and holds out his own hand, and they shake hands briefly.

“Iain,” he confirms.

A boy in his mid-teens peeks apprehensively from an open door off the hallway.

“Dad, Qualifiers are back on.”

Iain glances over his shoulder at the boy.

“Something’s come up, son. I’ve got to pop out for a bit. Ye gonna be alright with your brother for a bit until your mum’s home?”

The boy face is a picture of disappointment.

“Sure, but who should I tell mum you’re with when she gets in?”

“Nobody important,” Iain reassured him. “Anyway, shouldn’t be long. Ye can fill me in on what I’ve missed when I get back, yeah?”

The boy smiles, a little more encouraged now.

Ian waits until the boy has disappeared back into the front room and the television, before turning back to Simon and Kieren. He uses hushed tones now as he speaks.

“Ye know the pub on the corner, the Cross Keys?”

Simon nods. “Yeah, I remember it.”

“We’ll go there.”

Iain seems in a rush now and he hastily grabs his coat off the hook and his keys from a bowl on the sideboard and closes the door quickly but quietly behind him as they leave.

“Don’t want Ros and the kids getting upset.”

\---

 

The pub is relatively empty when they arrive. There is a pool table beyond the bar and fruit machines by the door. It is not unlike Roarton Legion, only there is music playing and Joy Division's Ian Curtis is singing, _“They keep calling me, Keep on calling me,”_ sounds low over the tiny speaks on the wall.

There is a dull hum of chatter and a few of the patrons turn their heads to see who is entering. Some nod a greeting at Iain, but most return to their drinks or conversation, minding their own business.

The barman obviously knows Iain though, and as they approach he smiles in recognition.

“Iain, haven’t seen you in a while. The usual?”

The elder Monroe looks a little nervous, but nods and then turns to his son, “Whiskey?”

The last time Simon saw his father they had sat down to a takeaway dinner of fish and chips, despite the fact Simon’s condition does not allow him to eat. He knew that, but Iain did not, and he did not tell him, feeling he would somehow be letting him down if he did.

“Thank you,” Simon agrees, again not correcting him for fear of seeming ungrateful.

“Make that two,” Iain tells the barman and then looks to Kieren.

“No, I’m okay thanks.”

“I’ll get these. Why don’t ye go find us some place to sit?” Iain says, reaching for his wallet in his jacket pocket.

“So Iain, how’s the family?” the barman asks as he places the drinks on the bar.

Simon lets Kieren lead and he chooses a table out of the way to allow them some privacy. They take off their coats off and hang them on the back of their chairs before sitting down. Iain joins them moments later with the whiskeys. He sets one down in front of Simon and takes a mouthful of his own drink as he sits down too, leaving his coat on.

Simon thanks his father for the drink and wraps his hand around the glass, but does not taste it.

There is an awkward silence.

“Think I’m the only one who comes in here and drinks Jameson’s. Everyone else is on Scotch,” Iain says making small talk.

“Jameson’s? That’s Irish Whiskey isn’t it?” Kieren asks, in an attempt to carry the conversation forward. They serve it at The Legion so he knows full well what it is, but if it gets Simon and his father talking, he will do whatever he can to make it happen.

“Aye,” Iain confirms, “Used to have the distillery back home in Dublin, but they’ve moved it down to Cork since.”

Like Simon, Iain Monroe was born in Dublin, but as a child his family moved around and eventually settled in Belfast. He did not return to Dublin until he attended the city’s university, Trinity College, which is where he met Simon’s mother. As a result, his accent was a strange mix of the two regions.

“The old distillery’s a tourist attraction now,” Simon tells Kieren, finally taking a small sip of his whiskey and swallowing the liquid gingerly. He knows if he drinks too much or too quickly, he will only vomit it back up.

“It’s a pity. The English and Americans who come over are far more interested in the whiskey and drinking Guinness in Temple Bar, than experiencing true culture like The Book of Kells.”

“What’s that?” Kieren asks.

He has to admit he has never heard of it before, so Simon explains, “It’s an illuminated manuscript Gospel book, written in Latin and created in a Columban monastery between the 6th and 9th century.”

It is clear that theirs was a household that liked culture - and not in a snobby way, but in a genuine way – and Kieren begins to see where Simon gets it from.

Iain takes another gulp of his whiskey and for want of a better subject, asks, “How’s your chess game these days?”

Simon half laughs, “Haven’t played in a long time. Not since…”

He is about to say, “Not since I played you that evening I came home from the treatment centre,” but stops himself just in time. He does not want to bring up the night his father threw him out. The last time they saw each other.

“You play…” Iain begins to ask Kieren, but in the shock of seeing his son earlier, he has forgotten his name.

“Kieren,” Kieren says, “No, I come from more of a Trivial Pursuit type of family.”

Both Mornoes take another drink and while Simon looks down at his glass, Iain looks ahead, past his son, staring into space, until Simon eventually breaks the silence once again.

“So ye remarried? That’s good.”

“Tony and Barbara introduced us. Ye remember Tony and Barbara?”

This is good. They are starting to sound more relaxed with each other now.

“Robert’s parents?”

“Aye, that’s right. Ros lost her husband during the… well anyway, she’s a widow.”

It seems no matter what they try to talk about, The Rising and the war keep raising their ugly heads, but if Simon wants this to work and to get to know his father again, they have to get past it and stop tiptoeing around every subject.

“They’re her kids?” Simon presses on.

“Yeah, Mark’s the eldest, he’s sixteen now. And Patrick, well he’s still a wee leanbh, but he’s growing up fast, so he is.”

Simon smiles, but Kieren can see it is forced. It must be hard for him to hear his father talk about his new family - his new sons - but he does his best to stay positive.

“That’s nice. They look like good kids.”

“Aye, they are. Mark wanted me to take him up to a United game earlier in the year. It reminded me of when w…”

And there it is again.

Simon is determined now though. “They win?”

“Course. Two – one. But then it was against Sunderland.”

They both share the joke and Kieren holds his breath. He realises how desperately he wants this to work out for Simon.

“Ye watch the Formula One grand prix at the weekend?” Iain carries on. Simon shakes his head. “It were Barhain. That Michael Schumacher turn is a right bugger.”

“I know,” Simon nods.

“Mark’s been going Go Karting. Costs a bloody fortune, but he enjoys it. Wants to be the next Lewis Hamilton.”

It seems their burst of conversation has died down now and Iain drains his glass.

“I’m going to get another drink. Ye want another?” he asks his son, despite the fact Simon’s glass is only half empty.

Iain is about to stand up but Simon gestures for him to stay where he is.

“I’ll get them, dad, ye got the last one.”

Kieren is left alone with Iain and they both watch Simon as he walks over to the bar to order another drink.

“So, are you two together?”

The question startles Kieren and for a moment he does not know what to say to Simon’s father. He is obviously under no illusion as to his son’s sexuality and Kieren feels a strong sense of envy for the honesty and acceptance they clearly once shared.

“That’s right,” he answers, wondering if Iain had always known that Simon was gay; whether he had had to come out to his parents; or if Iain had just put two and two together as to what Kieren was doing there. Kieren suspected it was a combination of the three. His son being in a relationship with another man was simply not any kind of issue for him.

“Ye known each other long?”

“Since he moved to Roarton. So, about seven months now.”

“Seven months? Must be serious if you’re counting.”

“Yeah, I think it is,” and then, he is not sure why, but he adds, “Wasn’t what you might call in the best of places before I met Simon. Thought things were improving, but they weren’t, not really. Only things are okay now. I’m okay now, better than okay, and that’s pretty much down to him.”

“Well that’s grand. Grand,” he repeats. “Glad he’s got someone.”

It strikes Kieren as odd that Iain uses practically identical wording to those Sue had used to him on a few months ago about himself.

“And ye seem like a nice lad. Still young mind,” Iain points out. “And yer family? They live in this place, Roarton is it, too, do they?”

“Yep. Just me mum and me dad and me little sister Jem.”

“They get on with…?” He gestures towards the bar where Simon is being served, and Kieren realises that he has not said Simon’s name out loud once yet during their entire conversation.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t live with them anymore. Simon and I, we had this friend, Amy, and when she died, Simon stayed on at her bungalow and that’s where we’re living now.”

“Sorry to hear that. How did she die?” he asks and then considers, “If yer don’t mind me asking?”

Kieren shakes his head. “She was killed.”

Iain snaps his head up at him in thinly disguised horror. Hearing those words – even after five years of untimely deaths, living and undead – still comes as a shock.

“Murdered?” Iain says, but it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“She was PDS and there was this Victus MP.”

Kieren does not feel like going into details and he can see Iain is more than happy for him not to do so too.

“Well I’m sorry for your loss.”

Simon is back now. He sets the single drink he has bought in front of his dad on the table and sits back down.

“Thanks,” Iain says, before holding the glass up and saying, “Sláinte.”

Kieren has no idea what it means, but Simon holds his drink up and they clink glasses as Simon repeats, “Sláinte,” in return. Guess it means cheers then?

Simon takes the barest of sips again and puts the liquor back down. He would give anything to feel the burn at the back of his throat from the whiskey - be warmed and given just that little bit of Dutch courage from the alcohol - but there is none to be found for him now.

Simon wracks his brain for a new subject to talk about.

“So, ye still teaching, dad?”

Iain nods. “Aye. For my sins.”

“Dad teaches English,” he says to Kieren, mindful he is not excluding from the conversation.

“Literature,” Iain clarifies.

“Ah, that must be where Simon gets it from then,” Kieren says as the penny drops. Iain just raises his eyebrows at him, not understanding his meaning, so Kieren continues to explain. “Think Simon must have a whole library’s worth stored in his head. Could’a done with someone like that when I were doing me GCSEs.”

He keeps his tone upbeat. If Iain could just see Simon through his eyes.

Iain changes the subject away from Simon. “So what do you do, Kieren?”

“At the moment? Er…”

He should have anticipated this question, but in truth Kieren had not thought past finding Iain and for Simon to have the opportunity to speak to him and try and resolve things. He had completely overlooked the fact that if it did go well, he would at some point be the topic of conversation. It is only natural, after all, for a father to want to know more about his son’s partner and Kieren wanted to give a good impression. Unfortunately, his current situation did not exactly scream ‘going places’ and suddenly it occurs to him that Iain might think him not good enough for Simon.

“Well, currently I… _we_ ,” he corrects, “have this Give Back programme all PDS have to complete.”

Iain looks to Simon who does not look like he wants to elaborate of what exactly this programme entails.

“Then in the evenings I work down The Legion,” Kieren finishes, desperately wishing he had gone to Art College after all as he originally planned. But then of course, he would never have met Simon, so it is swings and roundabouts when you think about it.

Iain looks blankly at the name. The gulf between his world and Simon and Kieren’s was growing by the second.

“It’s like the social in Roarton Village,” Kieren explains.

“A pub?”

Kieren smiles as convincingly as he can and nods more enthusiastically than he feels. “That’s right. Only for the time being though. Don’t want to be pulling pints for the rest of… forever.”

When Iain looks away to take another gulp of his whiskey Kieren rolls his eyes at himself.

‘Nice one Kieren!’ he thinks to himself, but then Simon comes to his rescue.

“Kieren’s an artist, dad,” he says and he sounds proud rather than out to impress.

But Iain looks impressed anyway. “Oh right. Any good?”

“Er, okay. At least I hope so,” Kieren answers, not sure if this question is directed at himself or Simon.

“He’s incredibly talented,” Simon clarifies.

The way Simon says it makes Kieren stare at him. It is the first time since introducing him to his father earlier that he has smiled - like really smiled - and not just the painted on kind, and as Kieren looks at him he sees it is because of how much Simon means it. Thinking about Kieren has taken him out of himself, and for just a moment, the weight of their conversation has been lifted.

Kieren is still marvelling at Simon and contemplating how not so long ago everything seemed so bleak, but now how quickly life can change, when he realises Iain is asking him another question.

“Is it painting or sculpture, ye do?”

“Painting, mostly. Acrylics, sometimes charcoal. Oil’s a bit messy without a proper studio though. Mainly do portraiture, that sort of thing.”

He had painted plenty of his family in the past, which even today still adorned many of the walls in his old home, but he had wanted to do one of Simon and Amy for the bungalow. Recent events were making finding the time in achieving that ambition further away by the day though.

“My wife, she was an art teacher.”

That surprises Kieren and he shakes his head.

“Really? Didn’t know.”

“He didn’t tell ye that, no?” And there is more than a hint of accusation in his voice. Kieren notices Iain’s body has tensed again and he continues before Kieren has time to answer, “Did he tell ye she died five years ago?”

This throws Kieren. It has been going so well up until now, but there is no disguising the way Iain looks at Simon when he speaks his next words.

“And so did my son.”

It is impossible not to read the inflection in his words. Kieren stares at him and tries to remain calm.

“Yeah, yeah he did, But now he’s back. Simon’s back and he’s right here.”

“Kieren,” Simon warns. It is not a chastisement, just an acceptance of the inevitable, but Kieren is not having any of it. He has something to say as he knows Simon will not be the one to confess what he is about to.

“How ever much yer blame him, believe me, it’s not as much as he blames himself,” he can feel himself getting worked up now. “What we did, what we _all_ did after The Rising; living, undead, it don’t matter. Cos it eats yer up inside. The guilt of it. Yer see their faces in the back of your eyelids _everytime_ yer close your eyes. They’re the last thing yer see just before yer go to sleep, and then they’re the first thing you’re aware of when yer wake in the morning.”

“Kieren, leave it. It’s okay,” Simon says. He sounds defeated and it is up to Kieren to be strong now for both of them.

“No, hang on a minute,” Kieren tells him and then focuses his attention back on Iain. “What Simon did, it wasn’t his fault. Can’t yer see that? We can’t change the past, no matter how much we want to, but yer can’t let it ruin the future either.”

Iain shakes his head. He does not want to hear this.

“No,” he shouts, slamming his glass down on the table as his whole body bristles. “I’m sorry, but my son’s dead. I buried him. I grieved for him. And now…”

He looks at Simon and suddenly seems lost for words, like the fight has been knocked out of him.

The crux of the matter is, Iain has moved on. He has learned to accept what cannot be changed, but not in the way Kieren is suggesting.

Iain tries to find the words to explain and continues on more tentatively now.

“Yer have to understand, I’ve been given a second chance at life now, so I have. I have a family again; they’re my future.”

Simon nods in resignation at his father’s words. It is what he expected, just not what he had dared to let himself hope for.

“I understand,” he says and presses his lips together in a feeble attempt at a smile. “I do. And I’m glad for ye, dad. Ye deserve it.”

He does deserve it, Simon accepts that.

But Simon does too.

They have that much in common and have both been blessed enough to have a new path laid out in front of them; new people in their lives and a second chance to love and be loved.

Iain moves his hand across the table and hovers it over Simon’s for a second as if he is considering whether or not he wants to do this. Eventually he makes his decision and places his hand down on his son’s. Simon knows his skin must feel cold to the touch, but Iain to his credit, does not flinch.

“It’s for the best. A fresh start,” he says, patting his hand, before taking it away again.

He looks purposely over at Kieren for the briefest of moments, and then finally back to Simon.

“For both of us,” Iain concedes, and it may not be the happy ending Simon wanted, but he knows there is still a happy ending of another kind waiting for him.

It feels like closure, at the very least, for both of them.

 

\---

 

The drive home to Roarton is a sombre event.

Amy occupies herself for the first half of the journey by switching between the radio stations on the car stereo looking for songs she likes until Philip complains, as tactfully as he can, that she is going to break the knob if she carries on like this the whole way home. Despite this, she does not criticise his driving once, although she does mutter a comment or two under her breath - but has at least turned the volume up on the radio loud enough for him not to catch any of what she is saying. There is a car bootful of her new purchases, half of which Philip has bought for her, and that is obviously compensation enough.

They stop off at a petrol station for Philip to refuel and when they get going again, Amy has swapped seats with Simon and is now sitting in the back with Kieren, in addition to a tube of sour cream and chive Pringles and a can of Red Bull. She crunches the crisps loudly and sulks that the weekend is coming to an end. Not that she will have to go to work the next day, although she is going to have to look into getting a job at some point.

Kieren watches the world go by out of the back passenger window while all this is going on, but his thoughts are on the night before.

 

Simon and he arrived back at the hotel after meeting with Iain. It was still early so they decided to go into the bar for a while. They sat on a sofa at the far end, out of the way of everyone else enjoying their Saturday night, and talked.

They talked about anything, they talked about nothing and everything, but the subject of what had happened during the day did not come up until they were alone in their hotel room.

The lights were off, but they had left the curtains open and the light pollution from the city lit up the room as well as any bedside lamp. Cover-up washed off and contact lenses removed, they were themselves again and they lay curled up against one another under the duvet, the rest of the world but a distant memory.

“Simon?” Kieren asked, disturbing the silence.

Simon was exhausted by the day’s events and could barely manage a, “Hm?”

Kieren lifted his head from where it is laying on the crook of Simon’s arm to look at him.

“How are yer feeling?”

“Tired,” Simon mumbled again. “Ye forget, I’m not as young as you.”

Kieren smiled. It always amazed him just how different Simon was when they were alone together.

“Not by that much,” he pointed out. Simon was hardly an old man by comparison.

He kept his eyes shut, but the corners of his lips curl upwards. “Still wear me out, though.”

“I find that hard to believe. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about…”

“I know what you’re talking about, Kieren,” he interrupted, the pretence over.

“So are yer? Okay then?”

Simon turned his body towards Kieren and Kieren followed suit so they were facing each other.

They both looked at each other for a moment before Simon answered again.

“I’m okay.”

“Is it what yer expected? How yer dad was?”

“Maybe. I guess,” Simon sighed. His voice was quiet and Kieren was not sure if it was because he was sleepy or because he was disappointed and could not find the energy to go through it all so soon. “Didn’t know what I was expecting, really.”

“He knows you’re alright now. Yer know he’s alright. That’s something, at least.”

“Yeah, that’s something.”

“So?” Kieren was obviously not going to drop it.

If either of them had a hope of getting any sleep he may as well get his thoughts and emotions into some sort of order. Kieren came from a family who was well practiced at bottling things up and it never resulted in anything good, so he could understand why he was being unusually pushy on the subject now. So Simon bit the bullet and opened up.

“Relieved, if ye want to call it that; an overwhelming feeling of relief. Relieved he’s been able to move on. After mum. After what I… after what happened.”

Kieren wriggled up a little and propped himself up on his elbow. He laid his head on his hand, so he was a little above Simon now, and Simon got the impression of being scrutinized. He would be able to tell if he was holding anything back.

“And what about you?”

Simon laid back and looked up at the ceiling, evading his gaze, running his free hand through his hair.

“A second chance at life, that’s what he said, and he’s right. And although I don’t deserve it, I’ve been given that too.”

“Don’t be talking like that, of course yer deserve it.”

Simon turned his head and looked straight into Kieren’s eyes. “Do I? Deserve you, do I?”

Kieren held his gaze and stared straight back. “Simon, if it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be. Life means something for me again now, and that’s not nothing. That’s everything.” And although he does not say, ‘And it was you that helped me see that,’ the words are there between them, all the same.

“Ye didn’t need me for that, Kieren,” Simon said, in response to the unspoken declaration.

“Yeah, I think I did as it happens,” but Simon looked like he did not believe him, so Kieren persisted. “I’m here now because of it. I’m here with you and that’s enough for me.”

Simon’s reply was automatic. “It’s enough for me.”

Kieren smiled down at him. “Then what else do we need for this fresh start of ours?”

“Nothing,” Simon said, reaching up to touch Kieren’s face, “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

 

\---

 

It is mid afternoon by the time they make it back to Roarton. The sun is going down and the sky is red in that ‘shepherd’s delight’ kind of way. Sue used to tell that rhyme to Kieren and Jem as children - _Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning_ – so if true, fine weather the next day was a distinct possibility, and after all the grey of the city, the burst of colour is a welcome one.

Philip drives past the bus shelter in the middle of the village and follows the road up the hill, toward the bungalow and it is only when they pull into Conyers Road that they notice something is different. The usually quiet road has cars and vans parked up and down the street, on both sides, some parked half way on the pavement to make room for passing traffic.

Philip slows down. “Is there some kind of do going on?”

Most of the residents are elderly, so it is unlikely there is a party taking place and it cannot be a wake as if someone has died word would have got around long before the funeral, the village as small as it is.

“Don’t think so,” Simon says back to Philip who has now slowed the car down to little more than a crawl.

Simon sits up straighter in his seat to gain a better view of the street in front of them. He can see a crowd gathered ahead.

“What’s happening?” Amy asks from the back, peering between the gap in the two front seats.

“Nothing good,” Simon answers, as he sees whose home the group of people have congregated in front of.

Those on the fringes of the crowd nearest the road spot the car as it pulls up, and immediately come towards it. The four of them get out. Soon the rest have noticed and are following too. Before Philip, Simon, Amy and Kieren know it, they are surrounded.

“Amy Dyer,” one of the strangers asks.

Amy is so surprised she answers without thinking, “Yes?”

A multitude of camera flashes go off in her face.

“Were you murdered by Victus?”

Amy puts her hand up to shield the bright lights from her eyes and squints underneath them to see as they begin to push their way towards the front door of the bungalow.

“Is it true that you’ve come back from the dead twice?” Another woman asks, thrusting a microphone towards her.

“Are you really Re-Alive now?” someone else shouts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Amy says, taking hold of Philip’s arm and clinging onto it as he pushes past them.

Simon and Kieren have taken up Amy’s flank to try and shield her from the worst of it, but it is not just Amy the journalists are interested in as they are now concentrating their attentions on the two PDS in the group and ignoring the obviously living male.

“Which one of you two is Kieren Walker?” one reporter asks, but another has done better research and he tries to block Kieren’s path.

“Is it true that you were the first to rise from your grave? Are you really The First Risen?”

Simon pushes a cameraman out of the way and brings his arm around Kieren’s shoulders to steer him away from the reporters, all the while cameras and microphones are being pushed and shoved towards them.

“Simon Monroe?” someone else shouts, “How did you get involved with the ULA? Are you part of a terrorist plot? Are the ULA planning an attack on Roarton Valley?”

Amy fumbles to try and get the key into the lock and Philip takes it from her hand and unlocks the door, ushering the other three through.

“Come on,” the journalists are shouting now, “Give us a statement?” and then more, “Don’t you want your side of the story heard?”

Once the others are safely inside, Philip turns to the crowd for a moment as more flashes go off and says, “No comment,” like he has seen dozens of times on the telly, before he disappears inside.

 

They can hear more calls from those outside as they sit in the living room. Philip has drawn the curtains to block out the faces peering in and Amy sits on the end of the sofa with her head in her hands. Kieren sits beside her with his arm around her back.

“What’s going on?” she asks, through the tears that are starting to fall from her eyes.

“Must have been that reporter that was sniffing around?” Kieren says to Simon, rubbing Amy’s back to try and calm her.

Simon is hunched forward on the armchair, thinking.

“No, he would have wanted to keep it to himself; not exactly an exclusive otherwise. No, this has come from somewhere else.”

Philip frowns and turns toward Simon and Kieren. He does not know anything about this.

“A reporter? For who? When?”

Kieren is still trying to comfort Amy and nods silently for Philip to sit next to her and do the same.

“Someone from the Roarton Gazette came around last week asking questions. Amy and Jem saw him off,” he says, as Philip sits down and takes over. Amy lays her head on his shoulder as he pulls his arm around her.

“The Roarton Gazette? Some of those out there were from the nationals,” Philip observes.

“Great,” Kieren signs, getting up to pace around the room. “What do we do now?”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Amy says, pulling herself together and wiping her eyes.

Simon nods in agreement. “Amy’s right, it’s not safe. We should go until this has blown over.”

Kieren has stopped pacing now and stares at Simon.

“Go where? There’s nowhere to go?”

“Amy can come back to mine,” Philip says, “I’ll can take care of her there.”

Both Simon and Kieren are relieved that Philip will keep her safe, but that does not solve their problem.

“Can’t yer two go to Sue and Steve’s,” Philip asks hopefully. His mum will be only too happy for Amy to stay, but having Simon and Kieren kip over too might require a little more persuasion as they were short on room as it was now Tom had practically moved in.

“Me and my dad are not exactly on speaking terms at the moment,” Kieren explains.

Simon moves to the window and peers through the gap in the curtains. The journalists do not look like they are going anywhere until they have their story.

“A B&B then?” Philip suggests, trying to be helpful.

“Around here?” Kieren answers doubtfully.

Philip looks at him, but does not answer. He has a point. The B&B’s in Roarton are not exactly PDS friendly, even if Sandra and Clive have a relation who is a sufferer and living under their own roof.

Simon sighs, leaning his back on the window ledge and folding his arms. They have a refuge, but it would only be as a last resort. The problem is, they are now out of options.

“I know some place we can go,” Simon finally says.

Kieren notes the reluctance in his voice and glances at him.

Simon’s expression tells him everything he needs to know. Wherever he has in mind, is because they have no choice.

 

\---

  
They have packed quickly, taking only the essentials they could easily carry, and gathered together in the hallway.

“Ready?” Philip asks.

All three nod, and despite the circumstances Amy cannot help but smile a little at Philip’s assertiveness. Her big strong Knight has really taken charge of the situation.

When they get outside, some of the journalists have called it a day and the group has thinned out, but others are still hanging around and they rush towards them when they see their targets reappear. There is another burst of camera flashes and questions, but they are in the car and down the road before anyone has chance to follow them.

Simon instructs Philip where to drop Kieren and himself off, and they watch the car pull away as Philip and Amy head off towards Shirley’s house and Philip’s home.

It is almost dark now, but the walk to the Traveller’s camp is made an easier one as they head towards the light. They can hear music playing and there is a bonfire lit that acts like a beacon.

As they get closer it occurs to Kieren how much larger it is than the first time they saw it on their way home from The Legion just a couple of weeks before. The ground the caravans and tents cover is extensive and there must literally be, not tens of people, but hundreds now. Even more have arrived since Simon’s last visit and it looks like a music festival gathering, not a band of Travellers.

They hear dogs barking as they approach and Simon expects to see them bounding out of the gloom to meet them as they did before. Silhouettes of people begin to gather together as they notice their visitors and start to form a tight group at a gap between the caravans where Simon and Kieren are headed.

Kieren hesitates. The last thing they need is to find more trouble, but Simon looks back at him and gently tells him it is okay and to carry on.

As they arrive at the boundary of the camp of people - some living, more PDS – they stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking their path, but Simon is undeterred and continues forward. Kieren stays close to him as Simon wraps his hand around his forearm propelling him forward behind him.

Simon sees no face he recognises and although his stride is sure, he begins to wonder if this was in fact a mistake, but then suddenly the enormous group of people begin to separate. Like the parting of the Red Sea, they start to stand aside to allow them both entrance.

They both walk forward and these faces of strangers change from stony and hostile to warm and friendly as each person nods and speaks words of greeting as they pass by, and that is when they both notice there is someone standing at the very end of the tunnel they have been forging.

Kieren does not recognise him, but Simon knows him all too well.

Julian is waiting for them, smiling. His arms wide at his side, his palms open and facing forward like he was expecting them.

“Simon, Kieren, welcome home,” he says and Kieren glances at Simon to find he is smiling too.

 

Zoe and Brian are standing at the sidelines, watching the scene play out from afar. Her face is beaming with satisfaction, but Brian looks worried.

“See, told yer it would work,” Zoe says, barely concealing how proud she is of herself.

Brian looks unconvinced. They took an awful risk doing what they did.

“Yeah, and what happens if Simon finds out it was us that gave the press that tip off?”

She tuts at his negativity. “He won’t, how could he? It were anonymous, wasn’t it? Anyway, Julian said.”

“Julian says a lot of things,” Brian huffs.

He is shaking his head at her now, Zoe’s naivety will land her in a lot of trouble one of these days. People take advantage and she does not even realise it.

“He said Simon belongs back with us, the Undead Prophet told him.”

“And Kieren? Last we knew, Simon was meant to have offed him under the Undead Prophet’s orders.”

Zoe rolls her eyes at Brian. He just does not get it.

“No, because Kieren’s special too.”

She always finds it so easy to have such faith in what they tell her and he envies her ability to absorb it all like a sponge. Try as he might, he just needs a little more proof sometimes.

“But I thought Amy Dyer was meant to be The First,” he asks, confused. He cannot keep up with all of this. One minute it is Kieren, then it is Amy, now it is back to Kieren, is it? True, he remembers Kieren above everyone else on that stormy night of The Rising - remembers the denim jacket he wore and was buried in - but he could not recall Amy at all.

Zoe shrugs. “Maybe it’s bigger than that though? Maybe it’s more important that that? Ever considered _that_ , Brian?”

Her enthusiasm is infectious and he knows that is why he keeps going along with her hare-brained schemes.

They both watch as Julian leads Simon and Kieren away to a place beyond the crowd. Some of the others had been instructed to clear a caravan for them in preparation for their arrival, but not them. Julian had told them that they had already done their bit. He was proud of them and the Prophet, he was proud of them too. That was certainly reward enough as far as Zoe was concerned.

“The Prophet wants Simon and Kieren here, and now they are. And that’s down to us,” she continues, standing on tiptoes to try and catch sight of Julian and their new – or in Simon’s case, returning – brothers.

“What are yer saying, something’s coming?”

Zoe had spoken to him about being let into the inner circle, but as of yet, he did not see any of that being likely for either of them in the foreseeable. He had known Julian for some months now and he was very much ‘on a need to know basis’ sort of man.

“Looks that way, yeah. And Julian, he says that’s why Simon never sacrificed Kieren like he was supposed to. Apparently, it was a test. Simon’s no traitor. Simon sees things, he _knows_ things.”

Brian notices every time Zoe mentions Simon’s name, she gets this misty eyed look in her eyes. It is the very same look she had when he first arrived in Roarton and was preaching the words of the Undead Prophet.

“Knows what? What things, Zoe?”

She looks back at him now and glares. Always so many questions!

“Look, I dunno, right? I just know, that there has to be a reason why Simon didn’t go through with it in the end.”

If Zoe has designs on Simon, she is sure barking up the wrong tree there – just like Amy before her. What was it about these women liking men who preferred other men?

“They’re a couple, isn’t that reason enough?” Brian points out. Obviously, it was beyond the realms of possibility for Zoe, that Simon might have come here on a mission to Roarton to seek out The First and then to sacrifice him - only by the time he had figured out who it was, it was too late - he could not go through with it, as he had fallen for him instead.

“Yeah, I know!” Zoe says sharply. She is not stupid. “Who says that’s not the plan though, hm? All this time, Simon’s been playing the long game.”

Brian is still not buying it. He would do his bit for the ULA as much as the next undead man, but he drew the line at some things. And if Simon was not really gay, he was certainly more devoted to the cause than anyone else either of them knew.

“They look pretty cozy from where I’m standing.”

Zoe looks back at him and grins.

“No, something’s going on, Brian. And you and me, we’re going to be right there when it happens.”

They both look toward the caravan Julian has shown Simon and Kieren to. The lights are on inside and door is already shut. Brian may not believe the way Zoe does, but the fact that something was going on - and something big at that - he had to admit was undeniable for even him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a short chapter, but by the end I think it has resulted in being one of the lostest - if not the longest - chapter as yet! I have also kept to my four chapters is the equivalent of an episode plan, so to my mind this is the end of episode 2 in this story. That means we're a third of the way through now.
> 
> Couple of things, for those of you who are going to visit Dublin in the future and fancy seeing The Book of Kells, do book in advance, the queues of toursists despite what Iain says in this, are rather long.
> 
> Secondly, I searched long and hard as to where it is stated that Simon died at 27 and was born in 1982. I can't find this information either on screen or in the scripts, but it seems to be considered as canon by fans, so I've stuck with that - although I find it a bit of a stretch that Simon is meant to look like he's in his late twenties. I'm the same age as Emmett as I certianly couldn't pass for 27 either!! If anyone knows what the source of this is, please leave a comment and put me out of my misery :)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos and of course following along. It will start to ramp up a gear from now on in.


End file.
